Four Seasons and a Year
by Ms Towa
Summary: Lovino Vargas enjoys a simple life with little difficulties and complications, and other than being known as "Feliciano's Brother," there were no hiccups in his way of living... until he met Arthur Kirkland. See, Arthur has a reputation, and people tend to avoid him. Lovino was one of those people. Was.
1. Chapter 1 - The Lion

******Title: Four Seasons and a Year  
Author: Ms Towa  
Pairing: England/Romano  
Rating: M  
Warnings: Coarse language, suggestive themes, use of alcohol, and violence**

**Chapter One: The Lion**

Spring is known to be the beginning of life, a new start or whatever, so why did Lovino Romano Vargas feel like dying so much right now? Sure, almost everyone dreaded waking up early to come to school, the first day of the new academic year especially, but nobody felt so deeply regarding the first day as Lovino. For one reason, he was a twin. For a second reason, he had a rather different – okay, admittedly that was a bit of an understatement - personality than his twin, and normally he thought that was okay because it made them unique, right? Anyway, for a third reason, Feliciano Veneziano Vargas was better liked than him - cuter than him, they say, when the two brothers practically had the _same fucking face_! All in all, what did that mean?

Well, no shit Feliciano was more liked. He already mentioned that earlier. The younger boy was nicer than Lovino would ever be in his entire lifetime. That was pretty clear in their first year of high school, and now another year would go by when Lovino would have to hear the same old crap over again.

"Why can't you be more like your brother?"

"Why are you so rude?"

"Why are you so loud?"

"Why do you hate me?"

"What did I ever do to you?"

And all he ever had to say to them was, "Shut the fuck up, bastard." Yeah, that made the shitheads avoid him for months, and Lovino was happy not to have to deal with that crap from at least one less person.

"Loooooooviii~~"

At least there was one tomato bastard outside of his family who didn't spew that kind of shit in front of his face or behind his back. Of course, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo was annoying in his own kind of way. For instance, in their first year of high school, the bastard had a tendency to cling to Lovino and coo - yes, fucking _coo_ like a newborn fucking baby - about how much he loved him. Although irritating as hell, Antonio was like another brother to him. Honestly, maybe that was why Lovino thought it was okay to date the stupid tomato bastard even though he liked and preferred girls, dammit. Antonio, he knew, would never utter those hateful, spiteful words he always heard being said about him.

Stopping in his leisurely stroll, noticeably three meters behind his twin and Feliciano's stupid potato friend, a German named Ludwig Beilschmidt who was such an - well, there isn't enough time and space to describe the bastard, so he'll try to keep it short and simple - anal retentive, OCD tightwad, Lovino waited for Antonio to catch up to him before resuming his walk to school. Antonio tried slipping his hand into Lovino's, but the smaller quickly pulled it away. Antonio's hands were always too hot; it felt suffocating. Besides, he hated public displays of affection and all that crap. Pretending that he didn't notice the older boy's obvious disappointment, Lovino asked, "What do you want, bastard?" He shoved his hands into the pockets of the navy plaid trousers of the school uniform.

"You look so cute today, Lovi!"

Lovino snorted and remarked, "What are you saying, dumbass? This is dress code. Probably one hundred other people are wearing the same thing as me today." He glanced over his outfit to make sure that everything was in place.

His trousers weren't too baggy, secured by an Italian, mind you, leather belt. His white button shirt was fitted nicely and tucked underneath a blue cardigan pullover (that might have been against dress code, but, whatever, too late now) distinguishing him from the tan sweater of his brother with his sleeves rolled to his elbows. Over the weekend, he made sure that he broke into his newest Armani boots so that his movements weren't too strange as well. Over all, Lovino was prepared to have the best worst day of his second year of high school.

Glancing at Antonio, Lovino noticed that his choice today was similar to Lovino's. Of course, his blue sweater actually had the school emblem or insignia or whatever on it, and the bastard wasn't wearing designer shit either.

"That may be true, but you're still the cutest one, Lovi!" Antonio chimed, making Lovino flush with embarrassment. Dammit, this guy could say the sappiest things so shamelessly! Once they've reached the gate of the Academy, however fortunate, Lovino was spared from Antonio's gooey, lovey-dovey crap. They scrambled to the bulletin boards with the posted room assignments before a large crowd gathered, forcing them to elbow their way through the mass, which was always a pain in the ass.

Crap, there was a crowd out there, and Lovino sure as hell did not feel like clambering over the other students.

"Kesesese!"

"_Che cazzo_?" Lovino grumbled before glaring up at one of Antonio's moronic friends, an albino bastard named Gilbert, who happened to be related to Feliciano's stupid potato head of a friend. Unlike Antonio, the aforementioned hadn't even bothered wearing a uniform at all since it was their third and last year of high school. He donned a red hoodie over the white uniform shirt, which was left undone over a gray t-shirt reading, "DEUTSCHER ORDEN," or something or the other, with a pair of red and white high top sneakers. "Hey, albino bastard, you're tall," Lovino remarked dryly.

"Glad you noticed, Lovino," was the sardonic response.

"What room am I in?"

"Is that it? No 'it's great to finally see you again, Master Gilbert the Awesome'?"

"Hell no," the shorter boy responded curtly. In fact, Lovino was happy to have a week off school because it meant he wouldn't have to see anyone's face, especially a certain albino face, but he wouldn't tell anyone that since it invited a fight he didn't want to participate. Instead, he said, "Just tell me what room I'm in, dammit."

"As cute and feisty as ever," Gilbert retorted wryly, rolling his ruby eyes. He glanced over at Antonio and added, "You sure know how to pick 'em, Toni."

"Shut the fuck up, bastard."

"Class 2-A, Lovino," Gilbert answered shortly. "Can't believe you actually made it into a top class..." he muttered to himself. Lovino clicked his tongue in vexation. The brunet knew that comment was supposed to be inaudible; after all, nobody really had _any_ expectations - never mind _high_ expectations - of him or from him or anything. Given how this school was ran - students placed into classes based on their academic ranking or scores - everyone would have thought him one of the lower classes, like D-Class or even E-Class. Well, screw that. He could apply himself just fine if he wanted to do so, and Lovino did not want to be associated with a bunch of shit for brains for classmates. He didn't know if he could say the same for Gilbert though, who simply waved his friends goodbye and announced, "I'm going to skip the meeting for upperclassmen and homeroom to work out at the gym. Anyone want to join?"

"What are you? A girl? Go by yourself, albino bastard," Lovino barked as he crossed his arms. Without turning to face Antonio, he declared that he was going to look for his classroom, and - like a loyal dog -the Spaniard followed him on his tail - just to make sure he didn't get lost, he said. Lovino snorted.

They entered the school building and - for a system almost entirely modeled after most East Asian educational facilities - headed directly to the stairs instead of stopping at small shoe lockers and exchanging their "outdoor" shoes for "indoor" shoes like in the animated shows Feliciano watched occasionally... not that Lovino would know because he stole a glimpse (or two or three or four) of an episode (or two or three or four). The Academy is situated on the remote island of Hetalia off the western coast of Europe, a place for family living and starting a whole new life, as endorsed by the European governments, that was booming with all sorts of races and nationalities and ethnicities. There were three main and rather prestigious schools, each with a sort of elevator system where kindergarten fed into primary, which fed into secondary, which fed into college schools and universities. There was the School of Katherine to the north, a strictly girls-only institution, and the School of Edward, a boys-only institution in the south-eastern end of the island. As for the third school, located at the heart of the island, was the World Academy, a coed facility best known for diversity in student life and recreation.

The Academy, like most elevator schools, was divided into a kindergarten, an elementary school, a middle school or junior high, and a high school. Each school was further divided by grade levels, otherwise called a year, and activity. The ground floor of the high school's main building contained general rooms, such as the school auditorium, the cafeteria, and the student council room. The primary floor was designated for the first years, above them were the second years, and the third year were located on the final floor. Each floor had a staff room for the teachers as well, and aside from the main building, there were various facilities dedicated to different sports and a single three-story building dedicated to fine, visual, and performing arts. For someone like Lovino, who was involved in neither sports nor arts clubs, these buildings had no purpose. After all, he was only supposed to come to school, stay for seven hours, and then leave.

"Class 2-A, huh?" Antonio mused as the two of reached Lovino's classroom. "It's already been a year." The Italian opened the door with a scoff and sauntered into the room. The teacher wasn't even here yet. Stupid Feliciano. His idiot of a little brother wanted to come to school early (probably so that he could meet with that disgusting potato eater, Lovino concluded), and nobody but Lovino was in the classroom. The surly boy threw his bag onto the desk farthest in the back and closest to the window. Antonio pulled up a chair from the desk in front of him and beamed at his scowling companion. "Come on, why so frowny, Lovi?" the Spaniard cooed. He took the younger boy's hand into his own and rubbed the back with his thumb in a manner that was supposed to be soothing. Lovino simply found odd rather than relaxing. "It's your second year of high school! Smile because time will fly by, and before you know it, you have to study for exams!" Antonio leaned in for a kiss, but Lovino was quick to sense his approach and smacked the palm of his hand into Antonio's face, holding the Spaniard away at arm's length. "Ah! Lovi! What are you doing?!" Antonio whined childishly.

"I should be asking _you_ that!" Lovino shrieked, red flushed with anger, embarrassment, and vexation. "What the hell are you trying to pull, dammit?! We're at school, bastard!"

"But Loviii~ I only wanted a kiss!" Antonio cried, throwing his arms around Lovino. The latter tried prying his arms off his shoulders. "Lovi! Lovi! Lovi!"

"Shut the f -"

"Wot da bloody deuce is goin' on 'ere?" groaned a heavily accented voice. Someone turned around the reclining chair behind the teacher's desk, previously facing the wall, but rather than revealing the teacher, it was another student... And Lovino knew just who it was.

The Italian had heard the rumors about a certain British student who had climbed on top of the delinquents in only a few months during his first year of high school. Because he had always managed to have solid reasoning behind his fights, the Rampant Lion of England was nominated as the head officer of the newly formed disciplinary committee, or, rather, he was the _only_ member of the disciplinary committee. Most people recognized him from the other students by the silvery dark piercings lining his ears, the deviation from the usual school uniform - a fitted royal blue cardigan pullover with a checkered pattern running across the v-neck, a light gray shirt loosely buttoned, a black tie hanging around his neck, fitted blue plaid trousers, a silver studded leather belt, black leather gloves, and military style combat boots - and, more importantly, the peaked police hat with a checked band matching his sweater.

"Goddammit, shut da fuck up. Yer givin' me a 'eadache," the blond grunted, running a glove covered hand up to cover his eyes from the sunlight peering through the blinds. "It's an' all damn early fer dis shite." His fingers on his right hand parted to reveal an electrifying green eye glowering sharply at the two students. Lovino froze, stunned and stupefied, in his spot. There was something strange about his eyes. The green...didn't seem natural; it was unearthly, almost, like it did not belong to this world. The Lion growled under his breath, sending shudders down Lovino's spine as he shrunk into himself, and grumbled, "Oh, it's da bleedin' Spaniard, innit."

"Kirkland," Antonio seethed just as dangerously, "what are you doing here, _te engendro de Satanás_? You are a third year now."

The green eye blinked once, and those pale lips parted again to speak, "I could ask you the same thing, wanker." Lovino gaped. His voice sounded so different a second ago! Now it was clearer, more pristine and, in a way, charming... Not that it wasn't before. Before, it was wilder, more aggressive and sensual in its own way. "You're a third year. Scram. Get lost. Shoo."

"And why should I listen to you, _diablo Inglés_?" Antonio snapped angrily. He crossed his arms and glared at the blond, scowling deeper when the Lion threw his feet onto the desk with a loud thump. Lovino flinched at the loud noise.

The blond lifted his cap by pushing the bill upwards with his forefinger, exposing more of his vibrant green eyes, and stared at Antonio blandly. "Class is starting, twit, so if you don't leave now, you have to deal with me anyway by order of the school chairman," he reasoned. Antonio huffed indignantly before stomping out of the classroom childishly. Just when Lovino was about to sigh in relief, the Lion snapped at him, "And you!" Lovino cringed at the roar. He expected a loud order, but instead, the blond spoke softly as he said, "You shouldn't go along with his whims if you feel uncomfortable with them, you know? I've always disliked that about him, but it's your call. Do as you like."

The blond slung his lithe legs over the side of the desk and stood onto his feet. Pivoting on his heel, he gave Lovino a clear view of the bull-whip hooked to the back of his belt, the sheathed baton, and the two pairs of metal handcuffs. Lovino wondered if he ever had cause to use them on campus but decided it was best not to question it. A curious hazel gaze followed after the blond until he disappeared. Just as soon as he left, a ray of sunshine bounced through the door, chiming, "_Fratello_! We're in the same class again!"

Lovino dropped his head onto the surface of his desk.

That's fucking fantastic.

* * *

It was a given that there were people who hated and/or feared Arthur Kirkland. In his first year of high school, he had a nasty temper that had a habit of exploding at whoever evoked his wrath. Over time, he somehow trampled a good portion of the delinquents of both the Academy and the other neighbouring schools on Hetalia. Not only was he deemed the King of Trash, he was entitled the Rampant Lion of England and bestowed a reputation as one of the most dangerous individuals on the entire island.

In his second year of high school, because the school board found that there was nothing wrong with his mentality, he was made into the disciplinary committee. It was mostly successful for the school since nobody wanted to incur the wrath of the Lion, but most delinquents viewed him as the traitor king. Of course, that bothered him little; why should he care about what those little arseholes think of him? The only problem Arthur had with the entire set-up was that there were still people who felt the need to challenge him. On the plus side, he was allowed to wear a bloody awesome, as Gilbert would say, hat. Nonetheless, most people avoided him upon recognition, and unless he managed to get off the damn island, there was no bleeding way he could escape the personality most people associated with him. He might as well play the part he was given. It would pass the time at school... Although he did wish that there were more exciting fighters around. Gilbert Beilschmidt and Antonio Carriedo came close to a good match, Kiku Honda and Yao Wang were decent fighters in a dojo (as they refused to fight outside the sacred hall), Mathias Kohler had monstrous strength expected from one of Viking descent, Lars de Vries had a good arm, and Ivan Braginski... Well, he was just a violent pillock. Arthur had heard earlier that his younger sister, Natalia, a first year student, was slightly worse and hoped that he didn't have to deal with her either. He didn't get many challenges from girls anyway - though, occasionally, Elizaveta did want to fight. (But the woman was bloody terrifying with that frying pan!)

Speaking of Carriedo, that was a fucking horrible way to wake up. Arthur certainly didn't mind speaking in his heavier regional accent now, unlike in the distant past, but he really didn't want to deal with the bleeding Spaniard and his antics so early in the morning. All he wanted to do was rest in his old classroom for a bit because the home-room teacher of Class 2-A had the best reclining office chair in all of the school buildings (yes, that was his reason; it was not because he had forgotten that he was now in his third year of high school), but apparently even that was too much for which to ask.

Arthur sighed through his nose as he approached the group of troublemaking students who had been reported to him by Chelly a few moments ago. Well, actually, it was just Ivan Braginski and the people he roped into his clique. He crossed his arms as soon as he stopped behind Braginski, the tall, big-boned Russian with an eerily childish face complete with misty amethyst eyes and wispy, silvery blond hair. Honestly, he forgot why he accepted this obligation to deal with troublemakers when it was such a bother. He had better things to do than dealing with muscle-brains like... Oh, maybe curling up to one of Agatha Christie's novels or a classic Sherlock Holmes with his little Scottish Fold, enjoying a cup of tea; maybe embroidering one of his couch pillows like how his mother used to do so in her free time; maybe playing fetch with his English bulldog, making the lazy git get some exercise; maybe listening to his collection of the first and second British Invasion, playing along to the bass-lines; maybe riding down the street on his motorbike screaming for vengeance, singing the lyrics to "Helter Skelter" by The Beatles, and warning about the impending apocalyptic future.

He couldn't wait to get home. Just one more year of this disciplinary crap, and he would be scot-free.

"Oi, Braginski. You're blocking the entrance, wanker. Move," Arthur commanded in his usual deadpan. His green eyes flitted over both familiar and unfamiliar faces clogging the front entrance to the main building. Braginski's three friends were trembling in their usual fear and anxiety. (Really, the mere aspect that Braginski was capable of frightening the student council historian, Eduard Von Bock, into joining his crew was rather pathetic on the council's part.) Then there were two twins, both with sandy blond hair, blue eyes, and glasses. They were well over Arthur's own height of 175 centimetres and wore their uniform rather neatly. The one with the cow-lick was wearing a bomber jacket over his uniform with a pair of headphones around his neck unlike his apparently meeker and more reasonable counterpart, who had a strange, somewhat crooked curl falling in front of his face. He had never seen these brats before in his life. "What the bloody hell is this?" the Lion inquired of his acquaintance.

He neither got along nor despised Braginski, see.

"Ah, Arthur, comrade," Braginski greeted him merrily as though there was nothing wrong, "we were making friends, _da_?" The question was directed towards the shaking trio, who nodded their heads eagerly in agreement. From that, he understood that he wouldn't get a straight answer from the Russian and that the historian of the student council wouldn't defy the taller, more intimidating student given the current circumstances. This, of course, brought another matter to the smaller blonde's attention.

Arthur was simply glad that Von Bock wasn't the president; it wouldn't do to have a pushover like him in charge. Rather, the role was filled by Yao Wang, who loathed Arthur with every fibre of his being and who was one of the few who could stand equal to Ivan Braginski.

Returning to the matter at hand, the smaller blonde instead turned to the twins and demanded, "State your name, class, and business. _Now_."

The twin with the cow-lick glared defiantly at Arthur, no doubt questioning his authority, and the one with the strange curl answered softly, "I'm Matthew Williams, and this is my brother, Alfred F. Jones. We're from Class 1-C. We were trying to get there, but my brother, uh, got caught up with, uhh, well, we bumped into Ivan Braginski..."

Arthur eyed Alfred dully before turning his attention to Braginski. "Is this true, wanker?" the Brit snapped impatiently.

"Is this not how friendship starts?" Braginski replied cheerfully. "It is how you and I met, _da_? We started fighting and got to know each other quite well, Arthur."

"You gave us an evil smile!" Alfred cried indignantly. "Like hell that's friendship, you stupid Commie!"

Oh, brilliant, Arthur groaned, a genuine American idiot.

Ignoring the outburst for now, Arthur kept his gaze inclined towards the Russian and drawled slowly, "You know, if Wang catches wind of this, you won't get off easy, Braginski. Get lost." He knew how much Ivan Braginski admired the older Chinese student. Plenty of students did. Of course, Yao Wang was a genuine role model through and through: reasonable and strong (or, as Arthur would say, stubborn as hell), smart and wise (a smart arse), and a decent head under pressure. Of course, Wang was also one of the few who shared a similar idea of government as Braginski did, so Braginski honestly and rather naively viewed Wang as his one true "comrade" on this matter. Arthur knew that the two of them often exchanged several words regarding it, and if something was to change Wang's opinion on Braginski, then there would be bloody hell to pay.

As expected, a dark aura with which Arthur was familiar began pouring from Braginski. The trembling trio behind Braginski scrambled inside the building, sensing the imminent danger, and the twins instinctively backed away. Only Arthur stood proudly before the taller boy. The Russian chimed in his childlike voice, "Ah, but you cannot tell him if you have no tongue, Comrade."

There was a moment of perturbing silence creeping between the two of them. "Hey, brats," Arthur addressed the twins casually, as though no such stillness existed, "hurry up and get to class. I have to clean up your mess."

The meeker of the twins pulled his brother along, who was much less obedient and much rowdier. Alfred, instead, was shouting about how, as a hero, it was not right to abandon someone to a monster. Ignoring the protests, Arthur prepared himself for Braginski's oncoming strike. The latter pulled out the iron pipe from his cylindrical bag, one that was typically used to hold baseball bats, even though it was common knowledge that the Russian did not play any sports at school and charged towards the smaller student.

Arthur deftly drew his baton and blocked the attack, the sound of metal clashing against metal rang in the air like the knell of a church bell, rippling through the atmosphere like a growing wave. For a moment, there was a power struggle as the two of them were forced into a deadlock. The struggle did not last long, however. Arthur was losing, for Braginski was taller and heavier than the Lion himself. The smaller of the two combatants kept a weary eye on an unsuspecting attack, so when the Russian made a move to butt the other end of the iron pipe into his gut, Arthur swiftly twirled his baton with a flick of his wrist to block that attack, which left for an opening to his face.

Thus, as he had initially intended and declared, Braginski made a move to return to his original target - Arthur's tongue, evidently - but the Lion leapt backwards, skidding on the ground, to avoid the jab. He narrowly evaded the attack by the skin of his teeth and could sense the lingering coldness of the rusted metal. Returning his baton to its place on his belt, Arthur rolled to the side when Braginski launched another blow and instead used his bull-whip to wrap around the wrist wielding the iron pipe. With a single powerful yank, Braginski yet out an oafish grunt stifling his pain. On the second jerk, he dropped the iron pipe, the weapon clattering onto the ground. With a third pull, the larger man tumbled to his knees. Once the Lion was certain Ivan Braginski would make no move, Arthur picked up the iron pipe and relinquished his whip, hooking it back onto his belt.

"It's the first day of our last year," Arthur told the taller boy, placing his iron pipe back into the bat bag and zipping it back up. "Let's try to get along, _da_?"

Braginski chuckled and replied, "_Da, _we shall see. You are clever, Arthur. Next time, let's have a proper fight."

In the end, it was fun and games. As always. God, he hated this job.


	2. Chapter 2 - The Ankle-Biter

**Chapter Two: The Ankle-Biter**

"You know, when you, like, told me that you had an office or whatever, I was totally expecting something... like, nicer," Jia Long mused as he set his school bag on the small wooden student desk. The younger boy muttered something in Cantonese before plopping his arse in the small wooden chair in front of Arthur. "Like, what the hell is this? The janitor's closet?"

Unlike his properly dressed older brother, Yao Wang, Jia Long wore a large beige cardigan with elongated sleeves and had the white button shirt done casually, discarding the tie all together. Also further distinguishing himself from the older Chinese student was his choppy dark hair and his admiration of Arthur. He was one of the few who could actually get along with the Briton.

"You're not exactly wrong," Arthur replied amiably, reclining in his rickety metal chair. His green eyes scoped the room at the same time as his young friend. The office in question was only 192 centimetres in both width and length (height-wise, he wasn't sure - though he was glad that he didn't have to crane his neck to get into the "office"), and the only furniture in the room were an unused desk discarded by one of the chemistry classrooms and three mismatched chairs - one a folding metal chair, one wooden chair, and one plastic chair. "It was a storage closet."

"Seriously? And they, like, just threw you in here?" Jia Long inquired sceptically, raising a somewhat thick eyebrow. A few years ago, upon meeting Arthur, the Chinese boy had shaved off a part of his eyebrows during the summer so they would grow back a little thicker to piss off his older brother and remind him of his academic rival. It worked, too. In fact, a myriad of the antics Jia Long had pulled off or was pulling off was intended to irritate Wang. For example, his learning Cantonese and speaking both Cantonese and Mandarin royally infuriated the older student because Wang could barely understand a word of Cantonese. His befriending Arthur was initially to irk his brother as well, but he didn't actually count on becoming genuine friends - not that either of them minded. "That sucks."

"It blows, yes," Arthur agreed, "but I'm the only member of the bloody 'committee' anyway. It doesn't matter." He sighed melodramatically, feigning deep sorrow, and mused, "It's one of the only private places where I can hide from the world."

"Eh, really? I was thinking it would be, like, a little crowded for two people," Jia Long replied offhandedly as he fiddled with his sleek, slim cell phone, snapping it open and shut over and over again in a rhythmic repetition. He smirked mischievously and added, "You know, since I plan to, like, join and all."

Arthur laughed and gave him a weary eye, albeit playful, before musing, "You're joking. This organisation is solely to give an excuse as to why I fight on campus."

"I wouldn't joke about something like this," Jia Long replied.

"Oh, so it's to piss off Wang," Arthur deducted nonchalantly. Wearing a hurt pretence, he added, "And here I thought you were honestly wanting to join my team to fight heinous crimes committed against the student body."

"Well, yeah, that's like a plus, but it doesn't, like, best making Yao angry," Jia Long remarked just as playfully. The Chinese boy then sighed, however, so Arthur assumed that he had probably remembered something about his brother. When Jia Long said, "He wanted me to be the student council president after he graduates and tried making me a class representative," without using one of his usual interjections, Arthur knew he was right. "I figured this was, like, the farthest thing from what he wants," Jia Long further elaborated, gesturing to Arthur and his office. "He really doesn't like you, but you know that already. He thinks you, like, corrupted me or something. By the way, do you still dye hair or tattoo people?"

"I'm not dying your hair or inking your skin," Arthur responded coolly and firmly. "I already have enough people after my head, and I don't need your brother physically coming after it as well. I already get enough shite about class ranks."

"What about piercings?" Jia Long asked casually.

This, Arthur considered briefly. Well, holes could always heal up, and depending on where Jia Long wanted them, they could be removed easily as well as long as the younger boy didn't want one that required surgery to get done or removed. "Where? Your ears?" he responded after a short moment of contemplation.

Jia Long thought about it a little more and answered, "Nah, never mind, it would be, like, totally painful to get as many as yours and super girly to just get a few studs done."

Arthur couldn't remember them being especially painful though. He had gotten two pairs of regular piercings done and moved up his ear from thereon. On his left, there was an ear bar and a spike through his cartilage; as for his ear lobe, there was a Jolly Roger and a dangling Celtic cross. On his right, there were five rings lining the upper part of his ear and two titanium studs through his lobe. He used to wear an eyebrow piercing, a nasal piercing, and a labret as well, but it was a hassle dealing with the vice principal, the principal, and the chairman on the matter. Once he removed them, they stopped bothering him about the facial piercings and considered it an accomplishment, leaving him to his ear piercings and concealed tongue piercing.

"Suit yourself."

"Oh yeah, that reminds me, if, like, anyone asks for Leon Kirkland, that's me. I, like, hacked into the school database to prank my brother," Jia Long mentioned in a carefree manner as though the news mattered little. "Well, I guess that, like, makes you my big brother now, _Dàgē_."

Arthur laughed out loud at the bit of information. Oh, imagine the look on Wang's face when he learns of how Arthur adopted his little brother! Actually, he's always wanted to adopt a darling little Asian child! (Okay, that was partially a lie; Arthur had an inclination to adopt an orphan from China after watching a documentary on Netflix regarding the One-Child Policy maybe last year.) Calming down, the older boy decided to play along with Jia Long's prank. "Oh, all right," the Briton mused, "I'm your big brother." Grinning diabolically, the blonde teased, "Now as your big brother, you must do as I say and get to class. I'll have to submit your papers as a member of the disciplinary committee, _Leon_."

* * *

"_Fratello_! Do you want to eat lunch with Ludwig and me?!" Feliciano had chimed, and judging by his chipper attitude, he wasn't expecting to be rejected. Dammit, Lovino still had trouble getting rid of that brokenhearted, puppy face with the watery eyes and - Ah, dammit! He fucking hated his stupid guilty conscious, but it wasn't as though Lovino didn't want to eat with his _fratellino_. No, he just didn't like the stupid potato head and was unwilling to deal with the bastard for thirty minutes of his free time. That, and he had a sneaking suspicion that if he was to eat lunch with Feliciano, then Antonio would find him too easily. Dammit, he could do without all of the coddling and the cuddling and the smothering and the suffocating! Why was the bastard so touchy-feely anyway? It was creepy!

Lovino just wanted some time to himself without having to deal with any other bastard. He wasn't like his brother. He wasn't an extrovert. He wasn't outgoing. He was rude, surly, and inexpressive.

Apparently, he was also inattentive because Lovino soon himself staring at a door with a glass window that read, in bold red font, "ROOFTOP PROHIBITED. NO STUDENTS ALLOWED." Well, screw that. He had wandered all the way to the fourth floor and didn't want to go back downstairs to eat in the classroom or to the ground floor to eat in the cafeteria or the gardens. Curiously, he jiggled the doorknob and discovered that it was already unlocked. Raising a skeptical eyebrow and questioning if it was God Almighty himself blessing Lovino with such good fortune, the Italian pushed the door open and braced himself for the spring wind.

There was no powerful gust, however, as he stepped onto the rooftop with only his school bag and the lunch he had packed. Only a gentle breeze greeted him as he closed the door behind him and sauntered further onto the rooftop, but, of course, Fortune was against him once again because, resting on his back atop the floor of the rooftop and using his arm as a pillow, was the Rampant Lion of England. His hat covered his eyes, but Lovino just knew who was underneath the cap.

Dammit, he didn't know what made the Lion so tired, but Lovino sure as hell wasn't leaving after all the trouble he went through to avoid his dumb boyfriend after that stupid stunt he tried pulling off this morning. Anyway, why did _he_ have to leave if the Lion, another student on prohibited territory, was allowed to stay? Lovino was tired, too, dammit! Instead, Lovino marched to the ledge, resting his back against the green wire fence, and began to set up his lunch, which consisted of cold pasta salad and fluffy Italian biscuits.

Although he tried to eat quietly so not to disturb the sleeping Lion bastard, all of his efforts were in vain, having been wasted when the aforementioned remarked coolly and collectedly in a nonchalant manner, "The rooftop is off-limits for students."

Slightly irritated, Lovino gritted his teeth and tried suppressing his vexation and he grunted, "Then why are you here?"

To this, the Lion smirked - though he hasn't bothered removing his cap or sitting up - and retorted, "Special privileges."

Lovino snorted and chewed on his pasta to avoid speaking with the disciplinary officer. He wondered, momentarily, if that meant the Lion bastard was allowed to do anything he wanted. Lovino couldn't believe that the school board was willing to put up with his lion shit... Just because he was a smart _and_ strong bastard. Lovino scoffed to himself before realizing that it had, once more, become quiet... Until he fucked it up himself. Damn.

"Why are you still here, git?"

"_Maybe_," Lovino snapped indignantly, venom seeping into his words, "I _want_ to be here. Do you have a problem with that?"

The Lion chortled lowly, amused, and pulled his cap ever so slightly, revealing a single sparkling green eye - such an abnormal green, Lovino thought to himself once again, not quite like Antonio's earthly green - to catch a good glimpse of his conversation partner. He responded, "Me? _I_ have no problem with it. The staff might, if they found out, but I don't feel like reporting to them unless you were planning to take over the school or some crap. I'm not like that little prat, Wang." His response caught Lovino off-guard but not as much as the next part. "Moreover, I think _you're_ the one with the problem here."

"What makes you say that?" Lovino growled, crossing his arms defensively. He tried keeping his temper and language in check because, even though the Lion had claimed to be nothing like their strict and uptight class president, he was suspicious and on high-alert. "You know absolutely nothing about me," Lovino added.

"Yes, that's true, but I know the people who come up here have troubles on their mind," the Lion responded in a softer voice. "There are rarely exceptions to that little cliché."

"Whatever," Lovino grunted before lying through his teeth, "I don't have any 'troubles.'"

The Lion chuckled in amusement and commented, "You're like a Chihuahua, taking offence to everything that defies you and your logic. Stubborn little things they are."

"I'm not Mexican, so don't call me a Chihuahua," Lovino snapped. Wait, that wasn't the problem. Again, he repeated, correcting himself this time, "Don't call me a Chihuahua! I'm not a stupid Chihuahua!"

"Right," the Lion conceded. He sat upright, keeping his cap in his lap, and crossed his legs, staring at Lovino in deep contemplation, unnerving the other and making him blush profusely, embarrassed and flustered, from the attention. Really, that stare was too intense... And what was with his hair?! It was the worst case of bed _and_ hat hair Lovino has ever seen! He just wanted to run his fingers through it and - "Your accent is more Mediterranean..." - oh, right, the bastard is thinking - wait, Lovino panicked, what am _I_ thinking?! Fuck, did I really just think that I wanted to fix his hair? - "Though you have a bit of an Arabic appearance... But, no, you're more hot-blooded... Latino, for sure, with the Romantic roots and whatnot... Spanish?"

"Chigi!" Lovino squealed. "_Italiano, bastardo!_"

As soon as the curse left his lips, Lovino froze in fear. Oh, this was bad. He just insulted the Lion, in Italian, and if the bastard was smart and used context clues and shit, then he would know exactly what Lovino had said... And - and if the rumors about his temper going around school were true, then the Lion would chew him up and spit him out. Oh, he was going to die. Lovino could fight, yes, but Lovino didn't like fighting. Fighting brought pain, and pain does not feel good. He usually ran away, considering the bastards with whom he picked fights were twice his size.

Contrary to what he expected to happen, the Lion burst out laughing and caught Lovino off-guard. The blond clutched his stomach with one hand and supported his weight with his other arm to prevent himself from falling due to the excess force that pulled him back when he jerked his head backwards. Unlike the soft, low, almost inaudible, chortles and chuckles from earlier, the Lion was truly _laughing_ now. His laugh was melodious (unlike Antonio's strange, airy "Fusososo!" or Gilbert's snakelike "Kesesese!" or the perverted "Ohonhonhon!") and, in a sense, magical - like the soft jingling of silver bells, the flitting flutter of fairy wings, or even the rolling movements of ocean waves - so magical that it was soothing and rather relaxing to hear. It seemed everything about the Lion bastard was ethereal. There was something about him that was enigmatic, puzzling and mystifying everyone.

Calming down, the Lion wiped away a stray tear and chirped, "_Italian_! Should have guessed! But, my God, you're really a fiery little ankle-biter, aren't you? All bark and hardly any bite! I guess all of that makes you more like a Maltese!"

"_Chigi_!" Lovino screeched indignantly. "What the hell is with you comparing me to a dog, bastard?! You have a fucking obsession with them or something?!" The profanity slipped past Lovino's lips fluidly before the Italian had a chance to stop himself. "And like hell I'm going to let you compare me to a fucking long-haired rat trying to pass itself as a dog! Don't call me a fucking Chihuahua or ankle-biter or Maltese or whatever, got it?! My name is Lovino, bastard! Lovino Vargas!"

The Lion chuckled, reverting back to his usual personality, and nodded his head casually, complying with Lovino's terms. "All right, _Lovino_," his name rolled off the British tongue smoothly, making him flush at the sound, "I won't call you a Chihuahua or Maltese. I was never a huge fan of toy breeds anyway, and it's not like I'm obsessed with dogs. I just know a tad about them. My name is Arthur, by the way, not bastard." He smiled pleasantly as though he genuinely wanted to get along with Lovino and chimed, "I'm Arthur Kirkland. It's a pleasure to meet you, Lovino."

Lovino couldn't bring himself to return Arthur's smile, finding it too difficult to do so, and instead opted to turn his attention to his lunch and finish it.

"D-Don't say my name like that, dammit," Lovino muttered.

"Like what?" Arthur inquired curiously in genuine innocence and confusion. "Lovino? I'm only saying your name as it is."

Lovino wasn't quite sure himself either. Nobody really called him Lovino because of that stupid tomato bastard. He was either "Lovi" or "Feliciano's brother" or the occasional "Vargas." The Italian supposed it was because he didn't like his name, but that reasoning wasn't quite solid either. He actually didn't mind being called by his name but... It bothered him, the way Arthur said it. It was a foreign sound, pleasant almost, and it was strange.

"I-I don't know, bastard! Just... It just sounds weird, and I didn't like my name either," Lovino grumbled heatedly, turning his scarlet cheeks away from the Briton. He stole a glimpse at Arthur and saw that the blonde was smirking like he wanted to say something. However, Arthur held his tongue and shrugged, but, honestly, it was nice, speaking with Arthur, that is. At least, it was nicer than what he had thought if he put any thought into speaking with the Lion at all. Originally, Lovino simply wanted to avoid Arthur and live a simple high school life without any conflict. This was peaceful though. Even though they spent most of their time arguing, it was enjoyable. For once, he didn't have to talk about himself or Feliciano or have to deal with insults intended to offend or have to defend himself from Antonio's or Francis' advances.

Now the two of them sat in a companionate silence, merely enjoying the company. He didn't have to force himself to interact or ignore the other presence. Arthur was there, and he didn't mind. It felt almost natural.

Lovino sighed. He knew it couldn't last forever though. Soon the warning bell would ring, announcing that lunch was over, and Lovino would have to return to his mundane, frustrating life with being compared to his brother, with dealing with insults, with being coddled by Antonio. God, he was not looking forward to going home.

"That sigh," Arthur spoke cautiously, as though he was weary of breeching the topic, "is about Carriedo?"

Lovino scoffed. "Only part of it," he admitted, lowering his guard some. "Not everything is about that tomato bastard."

"I honestly don't know why you're with that git though, no offence," Arthur commented wryly. "He's not the brightest crayon in the box, you know?"

"You probably only say that because you hate him," Lovino retorted. Frankly, he didn't have a real response. Antonio was the only person who didn't treat Lovino like absolute shit, so... Yeah. The Italian shook his head, dismissing any thoughts regarding the subject, after being unable to conjure a solid reason. Did he need to have one? Luckily, they managed to avoid the topic about why Lovino was dating Antonio. Arthur had taken the bait.

"I don't _hate_ him, per se," Arthur replied shortly, sincerely thinking about his words and giving a truthful answer. "I just don't like him. Of course, it's not quite disdain... Only mild annoyance and exasperation. You see, in our first year of high school, the twit would always come to challenge me and prove his dominance. It's a pride thing, but no matter where, when, and what, he never managed to beat me... So that led to his loathing vengeance out for _my_ blood. I just went along with the scenario because he's a stubborn ass. If Carriedo wants to fight, we'll fight. There are other, more worthy people besides that tosser to hate anyway."

"Why do you call him names then?" Lovino question curiously. He could understand what Arthur was saying - barely, but still - but it was the language that caught more of his attention. If Arthur didn't hate Antonio, then why insult him?

"Because he is what he is," Arthur answered shortly with a mirthful grin. "Why does everyone call me a lion? Why do you call me a bastard? It must be because I am one, correct? It's just that, the truth, nothing special."

"Ch-Chigi!" Lovino blurted out, red faced and embarrassed, as he tried justifying himself. "It's not like _you're_ a bastard, but... Well, everyone is a bastard, so..."

"Well, that doesn't quite refute my point," Arthur pointed out wryly. "I do fall under the category of everyone since I'm a person and all, right?"

He laughed, and Lovino just had to agree with the blond bastard with a half-hearted and somewhat crooked grin. He kept his opinion that Arthur was kind of special under wraps. While Antonio doted on him, Arthur actually treated him like a person. It felt nice. Anyway, Lovino figured that he liked hearing Arthur laugh. It was nice, too. Like a dance. A fairy dance.

A sudden burst of sound ripped through campus.

The warning bell, just as Lovino had suspected, rang through the air, breaking them from their moment of silence. The Italian began packing up before the class bell would ring in five more minutes and possibly mark him tardy. The younger boy turned to Arthur and asked, "Are you coming?"

"Nope, I'm staying up here for a little longer," the blond responded casually. He reclined on his back yet again, staring into the blue sky, and said, "I have special privileges, remember?"

"Right," was the short, brusque remark. Lovino rolled his hazel eyes and snapped, "_Ciao_, specially privileged bastard."

"Cheerio, little ankle-biter!" Arthur sang as soon as Lovino reached the door leading to the stairwell.

"Chigi!" With that, Lovino slammed the door shut behind him. Arthur only smiled.

"'e said 'e didn't loike 'is name, yeah?" Arthur pondered aloud to himself as he stared into the sky. He thought back to those glimmering hazel eyes. They were a unique colour, the blonde thought as he recalled the hues that churned together so naturally - a light gold infused with the softest amber gem, speckled lightly with emeralds in the iris - and decided that he rather fancied it. "I wonder wot made 'im change 'is mind." There was a succinct silence as he tried thinking about the meaning behind Lovino's words, but Arthur soon shook his head, unable to deduce a proper explanation. He sighed and realized that, yes, he was still on the roof instead of class.

"People wiv problems 'ave a tendency ter stay up 'ere, after all," Arthur mused to himself aloud somewhat bitterly. He pulled out his iPhone from the back-pocket, let it scan his thumbprint, and glanced longingly at the background of his home screen before sighing and locking the screen, setting the phone on his abdomen. The blond then closed his eyes and, once more, tried to nap through his class. What was it again? Physics? Well, it didn't matter. He could get the notes through Kiku, no questions asked.

As soon as he was getting comfortable, the phone resting on his stomach began vibrating. He cursed, eyes hardening, and picked up the phone, glowering at the caller ID, and spat, resolve wavering, "Speak ov da bloomin' Devil." He angrily answered the call, "Blimey! 'ello? Wot do ya want?"

As soon as the caller giggled, however, Arthur felt his guards lower and his eyes softened. She chirped in that seductive voice of hers, siren that she was, using that insufferable accent, "That dialect of yours is charming as always, _Arthur_."

* * *

"Where's the albino bastard?" Lovino inquired as he walked beside Antonio, who was stuck between his boyfriend and his close friend, the perverted French bastard, Francis Bonnefoy. The surly Italian kicked the side-walk as he glared at his younger brother chattering animatedly with the younger potato head walking ahead of them.

"Gilbert?" Francis sighed. It was never a good sign whenever the French bastard sighed, but whatever the albino potato had gotten himself into had nothing to do with Lovino. It didn't bother him one bit since they weren't friends or whatever. "He is with _mon cher_ Arthur. He said he had something to do."

Now, Lovino did not speak French, but he has been around this French pervert long enough to know that "_mon cher_" translated directly to "_mio caro_," and Lovino did not like that one bit. Who the hell gave him the right to cozy up with Arthur when he was the one who got beaten to a bloody pulp by the Lion more than Antonio himself?

"_Sí_, I think they said they were going to 'throw down' or something like that," the Spaniard added.

Lovino scoffed and retorted, "Does the albino bastard really think he has a chance of winning? Nobody has managed to beat Ar -_ il_ _bastardo leone_ - yet."

"He could try," Antonio reasoned, missing Lovino's momentary bout of nervousness. "It's not like that _diablo_ is invincible. He _has_ to have a weak point somewhere." The Spaniard turned to face the Frenchman and asked, "Francisco, you've known him for a while. What do you think - ?"

"That, _mon ami_, is foul play," Francis interrupted with a smile lingering somewhere between perverse and bitter. "I cannot do such a thing for you and to that _rosbif_. His 'weakness,' as you say, is something only a creature most vile would utilize against him."

"You sure know a lot, bastard," Lovino grumbled.

"_Mais oui_, he is my childhood friend," Francis explained.

"_Fratello_! Can I order pasta?!" Feliciano inquired all the way in front of the pizzeria where Lovino was employed. Ludwig was shielding his face from revealing his embarrassment as a crowd of people stared at them.

Lovino palmed his forehead and replied just as loudly, "As long as it's not deducted from my paycheck, _stupido_!"

* * *

**Author's Note:  
**Hello! Err, this is kind of a long and awkward introduction; I'm honestly no good at them. Anyway, I'm Ms Towa, and this is - as you've probably figured out from the first chapter - going to be an "Engmano" or "AsaRovi" story. Eventually. It's getting there. Yes, I will admit that it's Spain and Romano and England and (?) as evidenced from the previous two chapters, but I'm not planning to spoil anything right now regarding story content. It's my first Hetalia story, honestly, and my first one on this site. I'm still adjusting to everything, which is why there are two consecutive chapters. For the rest of the week, I might update each day. It depends on what my schedule looks like, but afterwards I plan on a regular interval of updates.

Here's a bit of a warning: I'm not a huge on high school stories because, ha ha, I hated high school, and high school stories are usually long from what I've read. This one is not an exception, but I've already written the ending.

I'll explain a little bit on a certain one of the newest characters now since I feel like it. Wang Jia Long, or, in the Western sense, Jia Long Wang, or "Leon Kirkland," is _Hong Kong_. Himaruya hadn't given him an official name, only potential ones (aside from Leon, I believe), and I liked Jia Long (which is Mandarin; it's Kha Luong in Cantonese) the best since it shares the same last name as Yao, ha. His relationship with Arthur was based on how China handed over Hong Kong to Britain after the Opium War, which was rocky at first if I recall history correctly. Because of British influence, Hong Kong is considered where "East meets West," and so Yao complains of Arthur's influence on his little brother. Additionally, after the hand over of Hong Kong in 1997, there was (is?) growing uncertainty regarding relations with China; thus, Jia Long's rebellious nature was born!

You might have also noticed the switch between UK/US English. I've _tried_ making only characters from the United Kingdom with UK English dialogue or thoughts even though it should probably be Alfred/America with just the US English, but Alfred/America is a minor character. If I did that, then it probably wouldn't even matter which English I used. I just wanted to try making Arthur stand out a little... I wonder if it worked? Well, my failure at sounding out the Cockney accent surely did in that aspect.

So, uhm, yeah, that should be about it. Until next time?


	3. Chapter 3 - The Pizza Boy

**Chapter Three: The Pizza Boy**

"You're serious?" Gilbert inquired as he reclined on Arthur's leather sectional. He cooed as he propelled the blond's Scottish Fold into the air. The taller boy swiftly caught the kitten as she descended towards him before Arthur could nag him for potentially harming his cat. Elizabeth meowed softly, trying to paw at the albino, and flicked her fluffy, long-haired ginger and white tail back and forth, brushing it against the pale skin. Gilbert never fully understood how Arthur could keep her so well-groomed, but he definitely appreciated it. Turning his red eyes to stare at the Brit rummaging through his stainless steel refrigerator for two bottles of "ale," Gilbert set the cat on his torso and ran the fingers of one hand through the white and ginger coat on the back of the Scottish Fold, using the other hand to accept the beer Arthur offered him. "She called?"

"Yeah, she did," Arthur replied curtly.

"You want to talk about it?" Gilbert asked the Briton wearily. Unlike what most people had a tendency to think, Gilbert didn't _hate_ Arthur. They were rivals, in a sense, and rather close friends. However, their relationship was quite different from Francis and Arthur's, who were both childhood friends and enemies. Rather, Gilbert would like to think of them as best friends who liked to fight. Their friendship, according to Gilbert himself, began sometime after he stopped bullying the blond, who had newly transferred from the United Kingdom, in primary school. In fact, the German albino was one of the few who knew Arthur's little secret. It was how they met.

One Friday night, Gilbert had stumbled upon Arthur and that woman in their first year of high school, and he had originally planned to use that secret against the Briton - you know, being the strongest delinquent only second to Arthur, who really shouldn't be counted as the strongest in Gilbert's opinion, and all - until he had seen how genuinely panicked Arthur had looked. Now, Gilbert wasn't entirely evil; he knew where to draw the line. In other words, the albino had changed his mind, and when Gilbert had sworn to secrecy, Arthur nearly had a cardiac arrest because he thought his heart had stopped. Since then, their fighting declined after Gilbert had stopped challenging Arthur to reclaim his title as the strongest delinquent.

Of course, Francis and _especially_ Antonio knew very little about the times Gilbert was invited to Arthur's flat. The other two of the Bad Friends Trio (a name derived from their infamy as obnoxious little wankers, in Arthur's opinion) always thought that Arthur and Gilbert were planning to have a match _mano y mano_, and neither Arthur nor Gilbert bothered to correct them. Gilbert suspected that his best friends would understand though. After all, he did nothing wrong; it was their misunderstanding.

"Not really," Arthur replied curtly to Gilbert's previous question and sat down on the sofa. He smiled faintly when his cat curled onto his lap. "There's nothing to talk about, anyway. She called and said she wanted to see me, and I said no." His voice cracked slightly as he explained. Arthur wanted to cry and break down, Gilbert knew from experience, but did not allow himself to show weakness in front of another person. "She has work to do, and I don't expect her to drop all of that just for me. We... We ought to move on with our lives. That's all there is to it." A bark at his feet alerted him to the three year old English bulldog hungry for attention. "Hello there, Winston!" Arthur chirped in an attempt to become merry as he picked up the brown and white pup and set him on his lap.

Gilbert reached over and rubbed the dog affectionately between the ears. Arthur smacked his hand away. "Stop that," the blond snapped, "you're going to spoil them, you know?"

"But I miss them!" Gilbert whined. He nuzzled his face into the multicoloured fur of Arthur's Scottish Fold. "Don't you miss the awesome me, Elizabeth? I missed you so much!"

"And they miss you, too, git. Now stop molesting my cat. I thought you wanted to play games."

"Of course, I do! You still have the awesome PlayStation Kiku and I gave you? How sweet!" Gilbert crooned obnoxiously, throwing himself onto Arthur and cackling mischievously. The Briton threw Gilbert off him in order to hook the console to his flat screen. Honestly, Arthur never played the games they had given him, but Gilbert didn't need to know that. The albino hadn't even realised that Arthur had never bothered buying any more games or films to add to the small collection his friends had given him for his birthday last year. Changing the topic to further lighten the mood, Gilbert asked, "Your landlord still takes care of them when you're out?"

"He just checks up on them while I'm at school," Arthur answered, turning on the television with a remote. He tossed a controller towards Gilbert and added, "He feeds them lunch, too. I usually don't leave them alone, but it can't be helped."

"_Ja_, school sucks." Gilbert grinned diabolically when he saw the familiar start menu of Tekken Tag Tournament 2. "I'm so going to awesomely kick your ass this time!"

"Since when have you ever kicked my arse?" Arthur retorted. "Teaching me how to play was the worst mistake you've ever made in your entire life, Gilbert."

"Well, I don't plan to go home a loser! That's so not awesome!" Gilbert exclaimed. He crinkled his nose and snapped, "Just wait! I'm going to pummel you like the awesomeness that I am! Then I'm going to go home and soak in my awesome, so I won't overwhelm you with the stench of your defeat and failure!"

"Those are big words for a man who has yet to best me, mate," Arthur retorted as he reclined back into his sofa. Elizabeth had taken to nestling on top of Winston, who rested his head on top of Arthur's lap. The Briton rubbed the pup's head as he scrolled through the list of characters, finally selecting the burly blond Brit, Steve Fox. Gilbert, on the other hand, had chosen the only German character there was in the entire game franchise thus far, Leo Kliesen.

As soon as the match commenced, Arthur was relentless with his punches, rotating between left and right, as he jabbed his thumb against the triangle and square, occasionally kicking with the x button. For his final attack, he grabbed onto Gilbert's character and slammed the muscular blonde German into the ground for a K.O.

"Oi!" Gilbert exclaimed, already throwing his remote onto the ground. "What was _that_? _What was that_?!"

Arthur chortled and chirped, "You either have to get your level up to mine for the next round or call your brother and tell him you're going to be here for a while, Gilbert, if you don't intend to lose."

Ten more rounds later, beers forgotten, and after shoving each other out of the way of the TV, playing on their feet, Gilbert's stomach rumbled. The albino draped himself on Arthur's sofa and whined, "Artie, I'm _starving_!"

"Should I whip something up or call takeaway - ?"

"Take-out, take-out!" Gilbert answered immediately, face paling to a sickly green at the mere thought of Arthur's cooking. The last time he ventured down that path, he was stuck in the hospital for almost a week and nearly died. "What should we get? Chinese?"

"I don't want to think about anything Chinese right now," Arthur confessed sheepishly. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he unlocked the device and pulled up his list of contacts, scrolling through the few he had in storage, passing over a select two names before guilt and remorse could fill his chest. "How about Pizzeria Romana?"

"Oh, pizza sounds good," Gilbert agreed, recalling how Francis and Antonio had gone to visit Lovino at work. Returning to Arthur's prior statement, the albino sniggered at Arthur's circumstances and asked, "But trouble in Chinatown? That's so awesome, Artie! What did you do to Wang to make him pissed this time?"

"I didn't do anything _to him_," Arthur corrected with a growing smirk on his lips. "Rather, it's what I helped Jia Long do _against him_, which officially makes it about ten times worse. At any rate, I'd prefer not to have him breathing down the phone when I'm trying to order Kung-Pao chicken."

"Doesn't Jia Long go by Leon Kirkland now? I was fucking confused when he told me, 'Jia Long? Who's that?' when I tried saying hi to him."

"Yes, I've somehow adopted him."

"Awesome! I want to adopt a Chinese kid, too! Do you know if Wang has any other siblings?" Gilbert cackled and chirped, "Order a pizza with wurst for me."

"A sister, I think, Xiao Mei," Arthur answered his first question. "She's around the same age as Jia Long, younger by a few months, and, yes, Gilbert, like I've always done, I will order a pizza with wurst for you," Arthur retorted light-heartedly, rolling his eyes as he did so, and added before Gilbert could mention anything more, "along with one cheese and one pepperoni. I know, git."

"You know the awesome me so well, Artie."

"Of course."

* * *

"Hey, bastards, what are you still doing here?" Lovino barked as he adjusted the insulated bag containing three boxes of pizzas in his arms. He glared at the two older students attempting to fold origami out of brown paper napkins, leisurely sipping half-empty carbonated drinks. "Order something or go home already."

"But, Lovi, we have nothing to do!" Antonio whined childishly, clinging around Lovino's waist. The Italian tried prying the arms off him without dropping the strange order - seriously, who the hell orders wurst on their pizza? - but to no avail.

"Where are you going, Lovi?" Francis inquired, pulling his friend away from the boyfriend before Lovino's employer called the police on Antonio for sexual harassment.

"What does it look like, dumbass?" Lovino retorted, snorting. "I'm delivering pizzas to some rich bastard in _L'Oiseau Bleu_ apartments."

"Ah, 'bluebird,'" Francis happily translated, "such lovely creatures. You know, I know someone who lives there."

Lovino rolled his eyes. The Frenchman's statement only confirmed his suspicions that he would be delivering to some privileged rich bastard living up life in some luxury apartment complex. Francis himself came from a ridiculously wealthy family with three summer houses and a cottage or two in the Alpines, or so it was rumored.

"That's fucking fantastic," the pizza boy snapped. He slapped away Antonio's helping hand and marched to his moped, buckling up the pizzas, and crumpled the address, dropping it into the pocket of his tacky red jacket with "Pizzeria Romana" on the back (because, apparently, it was advertisement). Revving his engine, he took to the streets and navigated to the luxury apartments with relative ease, having memorized the directions he pulled up on Google Maps earlier.

The pizza boy parked his moped outside the apartment complex and glanced up the twelve-story building posing as a piece of modern art with sharp ivory edges, smooth beige curves, and crystalline clear blue glass. He clicked his tongue in partial condescension and partial irritation, stomping past the sign reading in longhand font, "_L'Oiseau Bleu._" He wondered, briefly, why a rich bastard would even want to order some cheap pizza.

He managed to maintain his temper upon entering the lobby. The female receptionist raised a skeptical eyebrow upon noticing him, but Lovino merely plastered a charming smile onto his lips and stated with a rather seductive voice, "I've a delivery for a _Signor_ Kirkland in _appartamento_ 1250." He leaned against the marble surface of the front desk, inching closer to the freckled redhead, young and pretty, the pizza bag resting against his hip. He noticed that she had green eyes. So did Arthur.

Huh, why did he think of Arthur Kirkland?

Kirkland? It couldn't possibly be the same Kirkland...

"A-Ah, Mr. Kirkland is on the twelfth floor," she stammered nervously, averting her eyes elsewhere as a blush matching the fiery shade of her head. "I believe that he should be about three doors down from the main elevator on your left. Should I ring him up for you, so he can pick up the pizza?"

"_No, va bene_. I don't want to trouble a lovely _signorina_ such as yourself," he answered suavely. Blowing her a kiss, he said, "_Grazi, bella_." With that, Lovino sauntered into the elevator and pressed for the top floor. He wondered idly if the top floor was where the most expensive apartment suites were - like a penthouse or whatever. Lovino shrugged to himself. Well, it's not like it mattered. He would never have to worry about that any time in his life.

He clicked his tongue impatiently once the elevator reached the top floor after almost ten minutes. Honestly, was having twelve floors really necessary? Bastards. The doors parted, and Lovino gladly trudged out of the elevator. He turned left and scoured for the number 1250. Upon finding it, he knocked on the door and was tempted to scream, "Hey, bastard, delivery from Pizzeria Romana!" That wouldn't help him keep his job though, so he kept his mouth shut.

As soon as the door clicked open, Lovino was thrown off his feet and - _Che cazzo_?! That's one ugly _figlio di puttana_! - was nearly mauled by a white bear-pig creature with brown patches. _Merda_, was it licking his face? _Dio mio_, what else was touching his cheek? Contemplating if he should even turn his head, Lovino caught a glimpse of a long-haired reddish-orange and white coat and froze. Please don't be a rodent. Anything but a rodent.

"Blast! So sorry about this!" an incredibly British voice apologized after recovering from the initial shock. "Winston, down I say!" Lovino faintly saw the white and red-orange fur move. He stared momentarily into the face of a rather adorable cat before a pressure on his chest was relieved. The bulldog scampered into the apartment. "Contrary to the stereotype that bulldogs are a bully breed, Winston is a pacifist and a lazy-arse. I suppose he was excited by the smell of food though. Elizabeth is a sweetheart as well, so she was only trying to comfort you and apologise for her friend." Lovino stared into sparkling green eyes, dancing like sparks of electricity that tickled his spine, traveling through his body like a shock wave. "I really do apologise, Lovino. I ought to have trained him better, but the bleeding arsehole Beilschmidt - er, Gilbert Beilschmidt - keeps spoiling them. You wouldn't think that insensitive git would have a soft spot for animals, would you? I certainly didn't."

"A-Arthur?" the Italian spluttered. Hazel eyes roamed up and down the person in front of him. He recognized the scruffy blond hair and the intense green, but he would have never imagined the officer in a large lime and gray striped knit pullover that hung off his shoulders and acid washed jeans that fitted his long, lean legs, barefoot, in a luxury apartment setting, cradling a kitten and looking as innocent and as nervous as a child admonished by his mother.

"Yes, Lovino?" the blond replied curiously. His eyes widened as an epiphany dawned upon him, brightening the green, and he snapped his fingers. "Right! How much do I owe you? If I recall, it was around fifteen euros, correct?"

"U-Uh, yeah..." Lovino stammered nervously. He unzipped the pizza bag and added, "But if it's damaged, then it's free."

"Rubbish," Arthur snapped, pulling a dark leather wallet with the British Union Jack engraved onto the material from his back-pocket, "since it was my fault anyway, I'll pay in full."

"It was an accident, bastard!" Lovino argued as he handed over the three pizza boxes. The cat in Arthur's arms, Elizabeth, leapt onto the scruffy blond hair like it was a nest. "It's nobody's fault," he stated firmly, opening the door wider to give Lovino a view of the near empty living room.

There was nothing but a sectional sofa, a coffee table, where Arthur laid the boxes, and a TV that was playing a movie now on pause, displaying a backdrop of some little European town. Where was his guest? He surely wasn't going to eat three pizzas by himself, was he? Lovino's heart ached a little as he imagined a beautiful girl sitting right next to Arthur, snuggled warmly in his arms, with golden - or maybe brown - hair and deep blue-violet eyes to compliment the electrifying green. Then again, what does it matter if he had a girl over? Huh, Lovino could get a girlfriend, too, if he wanted, but a good number of the girls at school were irrational bitches anyway. He would have to go to town instead to look for a girlfriend, and that was always a pain in the ass because he would be finished working and too tired to do with anything.

Lovino shook his head, trying to clear his mind of his irregular thoughts, and asked, "Besides, what are you trying to do here? Pull off an animal farm?" The brunet crossed his arms and drummed the fingers of his right hand against his left upper arm as Arthur sorted through the paper money.

Arthur raised an eyebrow and inquired, "You've read _Animal Farm_? Funny, I've never pegged you the type to read classical literature."

"I don't," Lovino confirmed. "I used SparkNotes for that shit last year. You've actually read it, bastard?"

The blond chortled and mused, "Yes, I have, and, to answer your previous question, as much as I love reading George Orwell, I'd rather not be overthrown by my pets. Well, here you are, fifteen euros for the pizza - "

The Italian counted the money as Arthur spoke and interjected, "Hey, you made a mistake. You gave me _fifty_ instead of _fifteen._ You hard of hearing or - "

"Keep the change," Arthur responded casually.

"I'm not a charity case, dammit!"

"I didn't say that you were," the blond remarked casually. He pointed a finger towards Lovino's uniform, where there was a large wet spot and specks of brown smeared onto his white polo. Dog drool and dirt stains. _Cazzo_, Lovino cursed his luck. "Don't be so conceited, git. Part of that is to cover damages. I took Winston out for a walk earlier while we were waiting for the pizza to show up. Anyway, if it doesn't wash out, then you can get it cleaned or buy a new one. Thanks for dropping by."

"Cheh, it's my job, bastard," Lovino grunted, crossing his arms. He blushed and muttered, "But thanks...for the tip."

Arthur smiled softly and stepped closer, and subconsciously, Lovino stepped back, blushing harder. Elizabeth slid from his head back into his arms, licking a rough but tiny pink tongue against Lovino's reddened cheek, purring lightly, and nuzzled the Italian lightly. "I think she likes you," Arthur chirped. "She normally doesn't take to other people well, which was strange considering how she reacted earlier. Cautious little kitten she is." The blond beamed subtly, green eyes glistening with fairy dust, and said, "I'll see you tomorrow then? I imagine that you're still avoiding Carriedo."

Lovino clicked his tongue in mild irritation. "Thanks for reminding me about that tomato bastard, too," he snapped. The sound of a toilet flushing down the corridor signaled how long the brunet had been there exactly. Lovino pivoted on his heel, giving a half-hearted wave, and said, "_Ciao_, special privileged bastard!"

"Cheerio, little ankle-biter!"

This time, Lovino smiled.

* * *

"Hey, Arthur! Was that the pizza guy?"

"Yes, git. Next time, don't eat the cafeteria food if you can't stomach it. Now the toilet smells like shite."

"_Ja, Mutter_."

* * *

"Lovi, how come you didn't wait for me this morning?" Antonio whined as he pulled the smaller boy into his torso. "Your neighbor said that you and Feli left without me!"

"Chigi!" Lovino exclaimed, trying to push the Spaniard off him. "You were late, you dumb tomato bastard! Was I supposed to be late with you? Hell no, I get shit from the potato bastard if Feliciano's late, too, and you know Feliciano has to walk with me to school because he doesn't want to walk alone!"

"Fine, Lovi, but wait for me next time! I won't be late again, promise!" Antonio cried, pulling the smaller boy into his chest yet again. Lovino let out a strangled yelp and struggled to escape Antonio's hold.

"_Bonjour_, you two _tourtereaux_!" Francis chimed as he greeted the pair merrily. Behind him followed his sister, Émilie, a second year student who always had her blonde hair pulled into a side braid, and his cousin, Michelle, an islander girl who happened to be in her second year of high school as well.

Michelle Bonnefoy was rather beautiful, with rich tanned skin and long, dark hair pulled into twin tails held by red ribbons matching the girls' uniform, and a rule follower as well, given how she wore her uniform correctly. She donned every single aspect of the uniform - a dark blazer, cream cardigan, white blouse, black tie, red pleated plaid skirt, long socks - with a pair of black Mary-Janes, and the irritating part to most girls was that the look suited her extremely well. Last year, rumor had it that she was Arthur's fiancée, and the fact that Arthur called her "Chelly" did little to refute the rumor. However, it was soon proven to have been a prank by Gilbert and Antonio on both Arthur and Francis (and, quite unintentionally, Michelle). Nevertheless, the prank did make people agree that the two were a lovely complementary pair, but Lovino wasn't exactly one of them. It was somewhat irritating to know someone so perfect, and the Bonnefoy girls were the prime example. They were both members of the student council and honor students - though it was not yet distinguished that they were S-Ranked.

"_Hola_, Francisco! _¿Que pasa?_" returned Antonio. Lovino crinkled his nose in condescension.

"Have you seen Arthur?" Francis asked somewhat urgently. Turning to face the French bastard, Lovino noticed that he was genuinely concerned, but Antonio had either overlooked or was oblivious to this.

"No, you know I don't even want to see him this early in the morning," Antonio remarked. "Why?"

"He refuses to eat the school lunch, he refuses to let me cook for him, and he never wakes up early enough to buy lunch at the convenience store," Francis explained. "I cannot help but worr - _wonder_ - what he does about lunchtime."

Now that he thought about it, Lovino hadn't seen Arthur eat last time on the rooftop either. "How do you know about that, bastard?" the Italian asked of the Frenchman.

"Guess who had to take care of him last year?" Francis snapped before groaning. "Vacations are always the worst time of year."

Huh, why doesn't the bastard eat?

* * *

"The perverted French bastard was looking for you earlier," Lovino told Arthur as he climbed onto the rooftop. The latter was lying on his back again, hat covering his eyes from the sun. The Italian closed the door behind him. "He said he was worried about your lunch." Lovino took a seat beside the Briton and unpacked his lunch, this time a sandwich made from Italian bread and stuffed with three kinds of meat and cheeses, herbs, tomatoes, red lettuce, olive oil and onions. He had also stuffed a biscotti or two in his lunch just in case he was feeling the need to munch on something sweet, but that was rarely ever a case. Lovino preferred spices over sweets, personally.

"I know. He talked to me about it in class. That Nancy-boy is better off worrying about someone else," Arthur retorted somewhat bitterly. He sat upright, crossing his legs, and gestured to his stomach. "I'm fine. Does it look like I'm starving myself? Besides, what it to _you_ if I don't eat lunch, wanker?"

Ignoring the last comment, because Lovino really didn't know either, the Italian gave Arthur an indignant glare for being so complicated. "So you do or you don't eat lunch, bastard?" Lovino inquired as he began splitting his sandwich as evenly as he could. It was only a matter of presentation, nothing more. Glancing up, he found that Arthur wasn't even paying attention to what he was doing. The blond bastard was only staring at the sky, lost in thought. _Dio mio_, what was so interesting to occupy his mind for so long?

"Not normally," Arthur answered frankly, "but I was never a gourmet anyway. I don't care much for eating - " The Lion was silenced when Lovino had shoved the other half of his sandwich in front of his face. " - Lovino?"

"It's to pay you back for paying for my shirt, dammit," Lovino grumbled meekly, avoiding eye contact at all costs. "Don't read too much into it, alright, bastard? I don't know why you don't eat, but this is on me... So you better eat it and say it's good."

Arthur, on the other hand, had slowly gotten over the initial surprise and gently took the sandwich from Lovino's hand, their fingers brushing against each other momentarily. A trickle of warmth washed over him, and he bit into the sandwich under Lovino's watch. He hummed in content, musing, "It's good. I-It's delicious, actually, thank you."

Lovino grinned devilishly and chirped, "Damn right, it is! I made it, after all! It's not just any regular sandwich, bastard!"

A surge of old memories flooded Arthur's mind, and he burst out laughing in hysteria. His free hand flew over his eyes, covering the few tears that managed to escape, as he tried to respond as normally as he could, "Yes, of course, I'll have to keep it in mind."

_"Of course, it's delicious! I'm the one who made it, after all! Don't you dare underestimate me, Arthur!"_

"H-Hey, bastard, you okay?"

Arthur slid his hand from his face once he was sure he had regained his composure. The blond raised a thick eyebrow and remarked pointedly, "Why wouldn't I be?" Astonishment took over Lovino's features briefly, and the Italian scooted away from the Englishman as subtly as he could, which didn't amount to much. Arthur sighed and tried again, "Sorry, I didn't mean to be so surly. I... I just remembered something."

"You want to talk about it?"

"Not really," Arthur replied curtly. He stole another bite of the sandwich and mentioned offhandedly, "I'd rather talk about how _your_ day is so far."

"Me?" Lovino replied skeptically. "Why? I'm sure yours was more interesting."

"Oh, yes, besides stopping a couple of shitheads from fighting and getting a new follower, I have a jolly good time being stuck in S-Class," Arthur answered sardonically. He snorted. "Other than Gilbert, everyone in there is a bore whenever class starts."

"Gilbert? Gilbert Beilschmidt? The albino bastard is in the advanced class?" Lovino blurted out. The S-Class was made for the top ten students in their third year of high school and was rumored to be full of geniuses. It was the reason the Lion was able to get away with whatever he does. Lovino would have never imagined Gilbert Beilschmidt to be in the same boat.

"Yes, maths, science, and history happen to be his forte when it comes to the core subjects," Arthur explained with a lingering smirk. "Surprised?"

"I thought the bastard was an idiot."

"Don't get me wrong, he is. A good number of the advanced blokes are in their own way," Arthur mentioned. He counted them off on his fingers. "Kiku is a tad bit obsessed with the 2D world, Wang is a control freak, Karpusi is always sleeping, Patel is a teacher's pet, Zwingli is always armed and uptight, Hassan - " Upon seeing the confusion on Lovino's face, Arthur clarified, " - Gupta Hassan... Well, I've no problem with him or Miss Hedervary, but Gilbert is a nitwit and Francis Bonnefoy is a slimy, perverted frog."

"That perverted French bastard is in the top ten?"

"The bloody prat is good with numbers."

"What about you?" Lovino retorted. "A 'good number of advanced blokes' are idiots in their own way, right?"

Arthur chuckled. "Now, don't get me started. The list could go on forever," the blond joked. A part of Lovino thought he was serious though. There was no way someone could joke about being a moron like that. "So how was your day?"

"Don't get me started. I have a shitload to complain about."

"Well, we have all of lunch. Let's just tackle what we can, all right?"

"Cheh, whatever. This morning, Antonio, the bastard, was thirty minutes late doing God-knows-what. He probably power-sprinted to school to catch up with me and Feliciano, my _fratellino_, or something, but he expected me to wait _even longer_ for him just so we could _walk to school,_ dammit!"

The words flowed from Lovino's mouth before he could stop them, but, hell, it felt good.

* * *

**A/N:** As mentioned in the first chapter, the classes at World Academy are separated by test scores and academic performances. This is done in order to give the students attention where it is needed, so there would be a special "S-Class" for the especially advanced students in their final year of high school. I selected the S-Class students based on notable historical contributions to mathematics, sciences, and society in general. For example, Isaac Newton, Charles Darwin, and Thomas Rutherford are all scientists from Great Britain (Arthur), a country that is especially renown for its literature. Aristotle, Plato, and Socrates, the fathers of humanities, are all Greek (Heracles). Albert Einstein, the Brothers Grimm, and a heck lot of scientists and physicists are from Germany (Gilbert). Switzerland (Vash) is home to CERN, and France (Francis) is home to Marie and Pierre Currie. So on and so forth.

Oh, and Michelle Bonnefoy is Seychelles, Émilie Bonnefoy is Monaco, and (Neeraja) Patel is India. Since they didn't have official names, I just used whatever sounded best.


	4. Chapter 4 - The New Sheriff

**Chapter Four: A New Sheriff (in Town)**

Green orbs hardened into emerald crystals as they glowered upon the younger boy. Borrowing light from the sun, the green seemed to flash more intensely than normal, and it rather terrified Alfred although he would never admit that aloud. (After all, heroes weren't supposed to be _terrified_, were they?) He could feel someone prodding at his arm, tugging it lightly, in an attempt to pull him away from the officer. It was probably his brother, so he brushed the worry off his shoulder, knowing that Matthew only meant well, and shoved any lingering doubt to the back of his mind. The older student was still glaring at him. It was somewhat - okay, _really_, actually - intimidating. Nevertheless, he steeled his resolve and declared, "I want to join the disciplinary committee."

Matthew stopped tugging on his arm, but the Rampant Lion of England did not cease his incessant glaring. Alfred gulped nervously, awaiting the response, and almost didn't receive one. No, his ears were fast to pick up the short, curt, blatant, blunt, brusque, straight-forward and to the point, "No." The Briton sauntered proudly past the taller student, not even casting a single glance behind him, leaving the twins flabbergasted.

"B-But why?" Alfred spluttered in total confusion, chasing after the older blond and following him into the building and up the stairs. There was a brief moment of silence when the Lion didn't reply immediately, and Alfred gathered his wits to ask another, "Why? C'mon, man, don't leave me hanging!"

"If you insist," the Rampant Lion responded icily as he paused in his step, "then you must know that I already don't like you, and, personally, I think you're an _idiot_." The older student smirked slightly and mused, "You lads probably don't even know or remember my name." With that, the older blond resumed his gait and marched up another flight of stairs, once more leaving the pair of twins confused and bewildered.

"Hey, Al, don't let it bother you," Matthew comforted his brother in his usual soft tone. "I'm sure he was - "

Matthew was subsequently interrupted by his twin brother laughing manically. The younger twin placed his hands onto his hips and posed triumphantly as though the recent blow hadn't done any damage to his ego at all. The quieter of the pair knew, however, that being told right to his face that Alfred was disliked was rare since he was always the "good guy." That comment most likely crushed his self-esteem. "If the Lion doesn't like me, then I guess we'll just have to get him to like me!" Alfred declared using his "heroic" voice. "Come on, Mattie! We have some work cut out for us!"

"'We'?" the older twin repeated in bemusement. "Look, Al, I don't think that it's worth changing yourself for - "

"Alright! Let's get to class!" Alfred beamed, charging down the hallway with his brother in tow, earning themselves some strange, bewildered stares. "If he's the head of the disciplinary committee, then he must hate it when students are late to class!" Unfortunately, Alfred - blind with determination, pure stubbornness, and a headstrong personality - was unable to catch sight of the people in front of him. They barely managed to step out of his path, except for one sleepy little Chinese kid.

Jia Long Wang - currently known as Leon Kirkland to a good number of people at school - was walking and talking with his friend, Emil Steilsson, an Icelandic student with pale skin, platinum blond hair, and violet eyes, who wore his uniform similar to Jia Long's. He had woken approximately an hour or two ago by his older brother, Yao, whom he believed to be an uptight honor student and their parents' tool. (Yes, Jia Long was well-aware that his brother was smart, but he really did not believe that Yao attending medical school was his own decision. Hell, Yao still wasn't sure what kind of "doctor" he wanted to be, and it was already his third year of high school.) Then his younger sister, Xiao Mei, just had to occupy the bathroom for nearly an hour itself, leaving him only five minutes to pull on his clothes and brush his teeth. Just as he was recounting his story to the stoic Emil, Jia Long combed his fingers through his dark, shaggy hair to prove his point, only to discover that it was as normal as always. The bird nest about which Xiao Mei teased him probably didn't exist then.

Huh, Asian hair. "Never mind," Jia Long remarked blandly, "life's, like, good as always then."

"Jia Long, look ou - !" Emil's warning came a little too late as a hulking body crashed into his friend, knocking the Chinese student into the wall. The latter rasped a strangled choke of pain before angrily ramming his elbow into the gut of his assailant and kicking him away. "Jia Lo - _Leon _- " Emil quickly corrected himself before his friend could give him Hell for his honest mistake " - are you okay?!" The Icelander glared narrowly at the taller blond, who was groaning in pain from where Jia Long had attacked him _twice_.

"Seriously?" Jia Long grunted as he grasped the offered hand and, with the aide of his friend, pulled himself onto his feet. Dark brown eyes glared at the taller boy momentarily before the Chinese student reverted back to his naturally neutral expression and turned away, strolling to Class 1-A. "Like, be more careful next time!" he called to the twins.

Of course, Alfred was quick to catch sight of the red band reading "disciplinary committee" pinned around his left arm. "Whoa, dude!" the American exclaimed, jogging to meet with the Chinese kid he just bumped into. "How did you get that?" Alfred pointed unabashedly at the red band around the other's upper arm. "Is it legit? For real?"

"Uh, yeah," the latter replied. "I, like, joined the disciplinary committee and, like, got this to wear until - what? like - further notice or whatever." He resumed walking to his class with his Icelandic friend while mentioning how he was hungry and could eat a peach bun or two about now.

Alfred whined childishly, "It's so not fair! How come _he _gets to join but _I_ don't?"

"Al..." Matthew sighed.

"That's it!" Alfred exclaimed, smacking his fist into the palm of his other hand, as soon as he reached another conclusion without so much a second thought. "I've got to do better than that kid, and the Lion will have to recognize me then because he'll see how epic I am!"

* * *

"What the bloody hell...?" Arthur mumbled to himself as he felt another pair of eyes on him. He was used to being watched, given how other delinquents and other students and even staff members treated him, but this was...strange. Rather than stealing glimpses or something of the like, Arthur was certain that someone was trailing him. He adjusted the peaked hat atop his head and glanced behind him to make sure that he really wasn't being followed, and on the off chance that he was, the blond would simply confront the bloody git. Problem solved.

"_Rosbif_!" an obnoxiously French voice exclaimed from in front of him. Said Frenchman was currently blocking the way inside the classroom. A thick eyebrow twitched in irritation. "_Qu'est-ce que se passe?_ How was your lunch yesterday?" Cerulean eyes narrowed in a mixture of condescension and concern as he asked, "_Hier, as-tu mangé le déjeuner?_"

"You know I don't appreciate you speaking in that dirty language of yours when I know perfectly well that you know, understand, speak, write, and read English just like everyone else, Frog," Arthur snapped impatiently, crossing his arms, with a dangerous glint in his green eyes. Of course, that didn't mean that Arthur didn't know, understand, speak, write, and read French as well as Francis could either. He loathed the fact that he was able to do so, actually, but two years of a "foreign language" was necessary... And it didn't help that Francis was his childhood friend either - among other misfortunes and calamities in the past. Because of their long association and history, however, Arthur knew fairly well that, whenever Francis spoke his mother tongue, the Frenchman did not want anyone to overhear their exchange. Quietly, he replied just as he was walking to his seat, "I had a bit of lunch yesterday, no worries."

"Are you okay?" Francis followed him into the classroom, occupying the desk right beside him. "You don't look too well."

"I think someone is following me," Arthur explained softly, keeping an eye on the door for a moment. He thought he saw a shadow but decided to keep it to himself. "You shan't concern yourself with it."

"_Mon ami_, I have no intention to do so, but you know as much as I do that I cannot help but do so," Francis retorted casually. He pulled out his calculus textbook, flipping to the chapter regarding Riemann's sums as directed by the instructions written on the board. "You have a tendency to wreak havoc upon yourself, _Rosbif_. At times, it is most unfortunate. Who do you think is behind this case this time?"

"Like I've a clue," Arthur snapped brusquely. He scoffed lightly and begrudgingly followed Francis' example. His green eyes skimmed over the chapter contents before he grimaced. While the method appeared simple enough, the Briton simply knew that the teacher would hand out a lengthy homework assignment to accompany the lesson. "I haven't made an enemy in _months_. Everything is the same as always."

"Is it?" Francis mused. "There _are_ the first year students; they are fresh, new faces. They may not know what they are getting themselves into by being involved with you."

Arthur nearly laughed out loud at the comment. "Do you really think that a _first year_ would have the nerve to confront and fight me, Frog? Barmy, they would have to be complete nutters to - oh..." The Englishman recollected prior events. "_Oh_." Well, it was becoming startlingly clear, and he wasn't sure he liked that.

"You have reached a conclusion, _Monsieur _Sherlock?"

"Indeed, Watson," Arthur played along before groaning and burying his face into his calculus textbook. His actions made Heracles Karpusi, sitting in the back of the classroom in one of the darker corners, stir in his sleep. Wang and Patel, the Indian prat who so much enjoyed playing teacher's pet, turned to glare at him for disturbing their study time. Kiku Honda, a technological genius, peered over the edge of his manga to glance curiously at Arthur and Francis. Vash Zwingli's fingers twitched at the noise, and Gupta Muhammad Hassan barely flinched at the interruption. "Indeed, I have. The suspect in mind is an American idiot in the first year. I may or may not have pissed him off."

"Well, what are you to do, Sherlock?"

"Blast, I have to _do _something?"

At that moment, Gilbert burst through the classroom doors with Elizaveta hot on his tail. The silver haired young man ducked behind Arthur and rolled behind his desk. The German peeked cautiously over the edge of Arthur's desk, earning himself a curious green gaze, before pressing his forefinger against his lips, silencing the English boy. However, before he could explain anything, the Hungarian girl whacked her rival upside the head and snapped, "Don't you dare bully Roderich again, understand?"

"All I did was call him a pansy!"

"That's still unnecessary!" Elizaveta chastised. "Really, have you no shame!"

"None," Francis and Arthur chorused.

Elizaveta huffed indignantly, vocalising her clear disdain towards the albino, and sat down in her seat in front of Arthur. Gilbert occupied the desk behind the Briton, who suddenly felt like the single barrier between two clashing forces. He didn't like it.

"By the way, Art, there are two kids waiting for you outside, first year twins," Gilbert mentioned just as the teacher entered the classroom. "They're not Wang's siblings, by the way. I think they might be American or something."

The blond dropped his head into his hands. _Brilliant_.

Fortunately - or unfortunately, depending on how you analyse the circumstances - Gilbert noticed this reaction. "Hey," the albino mused, "you want me to get rid of them for you?"

"If it's not too much trouble," Arthur responded in an uncharacteristically thoughtless manner. The blond was tired; anyone could see that. He did not put much strength into the sarcasm as he muttered, "I'd rather not have another enemy, but what difference does one or two more make?"

* * *

Lovino glanced at his companion wearily, chewing on the cheese bread he and his brother had baked the night prior, before asking slowly, "Hey, bastard, are you okay?" At least, the _bastardo biondo _looked a little more spacey than usual. Those viridian green eyes weren't as vibrant as usual. They were more like dulled gems, and that was never a good sign. When Lovino had to snap his fingers twice to capture Arthur's attention, the Italian knew that there just had to be something wrong.

"_Svegliati, bastardo_," Lovino huffed impatiently. Upon realizing that Arthur was startled and staring at him like he just saw a puppy murdered or a kitten burned alive, Lovino sneered, "_Buongiorno_, _idiota, _did you get enough sleep last night or what?" The brunet tore off another piece of his bread with his incisors before offering one of the other rolls to Arthur.

The blond accepted his offer graciously and answered, "Sleep was fine. Elizabeth curled up to me and kept me warm, and Winston didn't blow."

"_Che cosa_?" Lovino interjected dubiously. Although he didn't want to admit it, he was becoming comfortable with the Lion. The brunet only ever regularly spoke Italian at home, but the older boy didn't even care if he spoke Italian or English or freaking Arabic. "What do you mean 'didn't blow'?"

"Ah, he didn't - err - release gas," Arthur answered awkwardly. He rubbed the back of his neck with a free hand and explained, "Bulldogs are known to be relentless with farting. No inhibitions whatsoever."

"_Che schifo_!" Lovino made a face and ended up sliding the rest of the dinner rolls towards the blond. "Take them all! I don't want to eat anymore!"

"Don't be such a Nancy!" Arthur retorted before gladly seizing the bread. "Don't come crying to me later if you're hungry!"

Lovino snorted and crossed his arms. "Okay, so if it's not sleep, then what the hell is your problem?" the brunet snapped.

Before Arthur could answer, a raucous commotion erupted from below them. The two boys peered over the edge of the rooftop and found three figures bickering in a rumbustious manner within the courtyard. Of the three figures, two of which were blond and the third had silvery white hair. To Lovino, the scene was something to which he had adjusted; after all, Gilbert Beilschmidt picking fights with other students wasn't anything new. As for Arthur, the blond realized that Gilbert had taken his word seriously for what it was worth. Nobody should ever question Gilbert's loyalty. The git, after all, had been pursuing a one-sided love for almost his entire life.

"_That_, git, is my problem," Arthur stated shortly. He rubbed his nose uncomfortably before finishing off his share of the bread.

"What the fuck is that albino bastard doing?" Lovino muttered before absent-mindedly chewing on the bread he had earlier relinquished to Arthur. The blond tried not to point out his companion's actions; if he did, then Lovino would stop to spite him. Arthur would prefer the younger boy not to starve, personally. "Is he seriously picking a fight with some first year?"

"That's what it looks like, doesn't it?" Arthur retorted lightly. His words had no sneer to them; they were empty words used to fill the space between the two of them and to impede silence. The blond pushed himself onto his feet and trudged towards the stairwell.

"Where are you going, bastard?" the brunet questioned of his company as Arthur opened the door and began his descent down the stairs.

"I'm going to have to stop the two pillocks, aren't I? Nobody else is going to do it since it's my bloody job," Arthur remarked dryly, gesturing towards his hat. The blond waved bye to Lovino casually, adding, "Thanks for the bread! It was delicious!"

"Y-Yeah, no problem. It'd be a pain in the ass if you collapsed and caused a scene because of malnutrition anyway," Lovino stuttered in mild embarrassment. "Throw in a good punch or two for me, alright, bastard?"

Arthur chortled and nodded his head, though Lovino could no longer see him, before quickening his pace. The blond broke into a light jog before sprinting down the corridors and bursting through the main entrance to interrupt the scuffle and, hopefully, dissolve the conflict. "Gilbert!" he called to the albino student. His friend gave Arthur a bewildered glance. The blond, in return, stated in a deadpan, "Leave the lads alone. You're bigger than the both of them."

"I thought you said - "

"Yes, git, I know. It was my mistake," Arthur admitted reluctantly. He hated being in the wrong, but these boys honestly stood no chance against Gilbert. The albino was formerly the King of Trash and the delinquent of delinquents before Arthur had rose to power and botched things up for him two years ago. At any rate, if Gilbert laid a hand on these boys, then the paperwork documenting the matter would be ten times what he usually did. The albino did have a reputation as a warlord of some sort. "I had little information regarding the circumstances at the time I spoke with you."

Picking up the authoritative tone to which Arthur's voice had shifted, Gilbert understood that it meant, "Fall back, you moron. We're in deep shit if you lay a hand on these boys." The albino nodded in understanding and sighed, exclaiming, "_Mein Gott_! You owe me a match now, _Arschloch_! You got me all hyped up for nothing!"

"Well, if you want, we can have a go now," Arthur replied nonchalantly with a shrug. "I finished my lunch anyway." He turned to the blond twins from this morning and said, "You lads ought to leave. It's best not to get involved with two bloodsuckers on the loose and in a frenzy." The quiet one - what was his name again? - nodded obediently and pulled along his brother, Alfred, who was less than willing.

"Why won't you let me join?!" he demanded to know.

Arthur gave him a dry look. "Will you look at yourself? You've a lot to learn, lad," the Briton remarked coolly, "before I even consider anything." Turning away from the American, the Lion faced his friend and cocked his head to the side as though to say, "You can have the first move, mate."

Gilbert cackled and shook his head. "Oh, I know where this is heading," the German stated collectedly. "You're planning to use my speed and momentum against me, are you? Counter-attack, huh?"

"You're just bloody imagining things, twit," Arthur snapped. "Go or I'll go."

In the meanwhile, Alfred had pulled his brother into the shadows to watch the two fighters match each other in the courtyard.

"Drop the weapons," Gilbert added after taking a second of thought. "I got my _Arsch _handed to me last time you used that fucking whip. That includes the handcuffs."

"I'll fight with my hands tied behind my back if you want me to do so, Gilbert," Arthur sneered impatiently. He did, nevertheless, oblige with his friend's requests since it was only fair. He released the baton, the handcuffs, and the whip by the loops attaching them to the back of his belt and raised his hands to show that he had nothing to hide.

"Awesome," Gilbert chimed before charging at Arthur. The blond swiftly dodged the attack, ducking under the fist and retaliating with a low blow to the abdomen, hat flying off his head. At the same time, Gilbert landed a powerful kick to Arthur's stomach. Arthur stumbled back from the momentum as Gilbert kept his position, and the two began circling around the courtyard, sizing the other. When the albino made a move to grab him and, most likely, throw him over his shoulder, Arthur immediately rolled out of his reach and delivered a low, sweeping kick that knocked his friend off his feet.

Gilbert propelled himself back onto his feet, only to receive a blow to gut by Arthur's high kick. He stumbled back and returned the gesture with a flurry of punches, some of which Arthur was able to block, some of which Arthur had taken. The two of them backed away from each other, counting the amount of bruises they've each received and delivered, before charging at each other once more when they instinctively decided that their previous exchange was not yet enough.

As Arthur made to grab at Gilbert's wrist and disable him, the albino was too fast and rammed his side into Arthur's body. When the blond stumbled, Gilbert shoved him to the ground by pressing his palm down on the tousled blond locks. Using pure willpower, Arthur head-butted the albino in the gut, knocking him aside, and swept his friend off his feet with a low kick in the counter-clockwise direction. He took advantage of his timing and grabbed a fist full of Gilbert's t-shirt collar, slamming his fist into the German's jaw.

With his weight, Gilbert tried to reverse the position by grabbing hold of Arthur's arm, but suspecting the move, Arthur quickly changed positions by pinning his friend face-first to the ground.

"How was that?" Arthur inquired, panting heavily.

"Rematch. Tonight. Your place," Gilbert replied shortly, panting violently. "I'm not buying the pizza."

They grinned.

* * *

"I just don't get it, Mattie," Alfred moaned as the two brothers walked home from school. "I can fight, too! I can protect myself!"

"Just forget it, Alfred," Matthew replied lethargically. He was really tired of having to deal with his brother's dramatic crap sometime. All he really wanted was to go home and eat some pancakes. Yeah, Matthew thought to himself, pancakes sound really good about now. With lots and lots of maple syrup. The quieter twin suggested offhandedly, "Maybe there's some other reason he doesn't want you to join."

"But what could it be?" Alfred whined. "I followed him around and made sure everyone threw their trash into the garbage bins and their plastic bottles and glass and paper into the _proper_ recycling bins! I was never late - even though, theoretically, heroes have the right to be late - and I helped an old lady cross the street!"

"I don't think he would be impressed by that, really," Matthew muttered underneath his breath.

"Huh? Did you say something, Mattie?"

"Nothing, Alfred," the - this Matthew was nine out of ten times sure - smarter twin responded bluntly. "Anyway, let's just go home and get something to eat."

"Yeah, you're right," Alfred agreed reluctantly. "I mean, maybe I'm just thinking about this a little bit too much or something. It's not like this is my only chance to become a hero! I could volunteer at the fire station or something! Yeah!"

Matthew spared his brother a smile. "See? It's not the end of the world! Just - "

"Matthew, watch out!" Alfred snatched his twin's wrist and pulled him out of the way of the rampaging bicycler. Matthew crashed onto the pavement, but at least he wasn't flattened like a pancake. "Hey, you! Watch where you're going!" the American shrilled at the top of his lungs, but the biker hadn't even turned around to spare a glance at the brothers - as though he hadn't done anything wrong. Matthew sighed, used to this kind of treatment, though it was far from pleasant. Alfred turned to his brother, concern peaking through his blue eyes, and cried, "Hey, Mattie, bro, you alright?"

"Y-Yeah."

"You lads ought to get to a hospital," someone spoke from behind them. They turned their heads and found Arthur Kirkland standing there, dressed neatly in his officer/student uniform as though he hadn't been fighting moments earlier. He gave them a subtle smile that was much like an older brother beaming with pride. "It's better to be safe than sorry, right?"

"R-Right," the twins chorused. Alfred helped his brother onto his feet and, giving Arthur a single glance, walked away. The Briton had long done the same.

The next morning, Arthur dusted off his gloved hands as he kicked aside the rolling chair where the PA - public announcement? public address? - blimey, what does it even matter? - guy was seated, shaken in fear. Honestly, he hadn't meant to harm a fly. The blond simply wanted to make an announcement, but the PA bloke just had to be sensitive about the whole matter! Really, who gave a damn if he would get in trouble for letting someone else handle the equipment?

"I just have to press this red button when I speak, correct? Then I let go when I'm done?"

"Y-Yes sir!" the PA guy squeaked.

Now what was so difficult about that?

Arthur gingerly pressed the red button and stated into the microphone, "Alfred F. Jones of Class 1-C is to report to the disciplinary committee office immediately." He cracked a smile. "Don't be late, _hero_."

Of course, Arthur didn't already expect him to be there when the Briton returned to his storage closet of an office to rearrange the bloody paperwork. The younger student was panting out of breath from either running or excitement or both. Arthur raised a thick eyebrow in scepticism, remarking, "Honestly, I don't know what's so exciting about joining two other blokes stopping simple-minded twits from fighting."

"That's it exactly!" Alfred beamed. "I've always wanted to be a hero since I was young - "

"I didn't ask for your life story, git," Arthur snapped instantaneously before the American had a chance to blab incessantly regarding shite about which Arthur couldn't have cared less. "Anyway, you do know why I've called you here, right?"

"Uhh..." Alfred thought about it seriously for a moment. "...to congratulate me on a job well done?"

Arthur sighed, digging through the microscopic filing cabinet he was graciously given by staff, before plopping a pile of paper onto the surface of his desk. "I've marked the places where you need to sign. The staff requires documentation on members and such. I figured I ought to give it to you now than later."

Alfred's face fell slightly.

Smirking, Arthur added, "And any man can defend himself, but protecting someone who is important to him - despite whether he can or can't - is worth more than fighting skill. You're not quite the numbskull I thought you were, originally. Congratulations."

* * *

**A/N:**

Xiao Mei (Wang) - Taiwan  
Taiwan doesn't have an official human name, but this was one of the two (I think) that Himaruya listed as potential names. It's also my favorite because then Yao or Jia Long can call her "Meimei," which means "little sister."

Emil Steilsson - Iceland  
Iceland doesn't have an official name either, but this seems to be the most popular one for him.  
He doesn't have a relationship more than friendship with Jia Long though; sorry to disappoint HongIce fans.

Now that I go through this, Chapter 4 seems like a useless chapter, but there's a purpose for every little character even if it's only fleeting! Well, the main purpose is actually to build the school, but if they interact with Arthur, there's a reason for it. Even if it's tiny. Xiao Mei and Emil don't have much of an important role though; Alfred and Matthew have more of a role than they do.

Also, regarding languages other than English, which is my second language, my Italian is crap, and my German is slightly better. Only slightly. I learned Spanish for a year about seven years ago, but that was elementary stuff. (I only remember how to say things like dog, cat, and horse.) I've also picked up Asian languages from friends and family, so I hope they're not too inaccurate. Additionally, I've studied French for four years though, but I'm a little rusty. Just correct me if you see any errors anywhere!


	5. Chapter 5 - The Summer Blues

**Chapter Five: The Summer Blues**

"And last night, he even dared to invite the stupid potato bastard to dinner! First he lies about a stupid science project when we have _the same fucking science class_, and now he's trying to avoid _me_ at lunchtime when I don't even eat lunch with him anymore! I think he's being brainwashed, dammit," Lovino grumbled as he angrily tore off another piece of a dinner roll leftover from last night with his teeth. "Just what the hell does that fucking potato head have to hold against my _fratellino_?"

"Okay, I'm a little lost now," Arthur joked as he pulled his cardigan over his head and loosened his tie, unbuttoning a few buttons of his shirt. The Mediterranean heat had successfully migrated to the island of Hetalia, making it so that a heatwave had unexpectedly washed over the shores and onto the land. For a London native such as Arthur, the weather was bloody _terrible_. He felt like he was dying all the time with the sun constantly evaporating all of the moisture from his body and became much too dehydrated much too quickly. Imagine how bloody Gilbert feels, he mused, trying to cheer himself from his self-misery and self-pity. It could be worse, he reminded himself. At least he wasn't albino. Still, Arthur actually missed the rain. Honestly, the blond could use a nice and heavy downpour right about now. Nevertheless, he diligently returned to the subject at hand and inquired of Lovino, "Are you saying that Ludwig is brainwashing your brother or blackmailing him?"

"Chigi!" the little Italian boy shrilled. "Fuck, I don't know! Both?! Either way, he's manipulating him, right?" The brunet whirled about face to establish eye contact with his newest friend - at least, he thought they were friends - and nearly rambled on a tangent until he noticed what Arthur had done to his clothing. His cheeks reddened at the sight of Arthur's pale, bare skin and the beads of perspiration dripping down his long, pale neck. Fuck, where was his sense of public decency? On the other hand, the blond thought nothing of Lovino's behaviour, mistaking it for his usual fiery temper flaring to the surface again.

Arthur chuckled. "You know, it's good you care so much for your brother," he mused. "We all could use a little bit more Lovino's in this world."

The Italian clicked his tongue condescendingly and rolled his hazel eyes. "Please, if we had more of me in this world, it would be Hell," the brunet grumbled weakly. "I'm grumpy and sour and rude, and I'm not smart or talented either. I'm not perfect like Feliciano is. Everyone fucking loves and adores Feliciano. He's cuter, too."

Ah, there he goes again: always talking about Feliciano. Feliciano this, Feliciano that, Feliciano blah, blah, blah. After a good few weeks, Arthur was well-aware of the fact that the root of Lovino's insecurities was his younger twin, Feliciano, the blooming social butterfly, so he might as well try to uproot the source now - sooner rather than later. That way, he wouldn't have to deal with this rubbish any more than he needed to do so; well, that's what he convinced himself to believe at the very least.

"You know, I had the pleasure of meeting your brother once," Arthur brought up almost randomly. Lovino knew better though. For the past approximate two months, everything Arthur said has either a blatant meaning, a hidden meaning, or a double meaning. Lovino figured the bastard got a kick out of being mysterious. Lovino often told his friend that he disliked it, but that wasn't so much true. In a way, the mystery provided a sort of thrill. "He bumped into me and wouldn't stop apologising in both English _and_ Italian. He's the complete opposite of you; I thought it was so strange. How can two people share the same face and behave so differently? He's gentle, sweet, and polite, and he's not quite bright but talented." Lovino could feel his pride get crushed further and further until Arthur mentioned, "But he's not my type."

_"Che cazzo dici, bastardo?!"_ Lovino screeched, glaring at the aforementioned bastard. "What the fuck are you saying about someone else's little brother, dammit?! Are you g-_gay_?!"

Arthur laughed at his friend's reaction, truly amused and genuinely humoured, before replying, "Well, it's true. I don't really like the cute and fluffy sort of person; it makes me want to protect them - not _love_ them. Rather, I prefer someone who's sexier." Lovino's cheeks reddened. He didn't ask for _that_, dammit! Keeping the playful lilt to his voice, Arthur added, "Besides, why are _you_ asking me if I'm gay? You're the one who's dating Carriedo, but to answer your question, no, I don't believe so. I've only ever dated of the female specimen. Then again, I might not even care. I've never considered dating a bloke though." He paused. "I don't feel disgusted by the idea."

"B-Bastard," Lovino grunted indignantly. A part of him was relieved though. Maybe that meant Arthur would never be interested in Feliciano, which meant that Arthur preferred the older Vargas brother, right? N-Not that it mattered! But, if Kirkland really did have a girlfriend - not just a girlfriend, but a _sexy_ one - before, then what would he even do with her? Ah, never mind, Lovino dismissed the idea, I don't want to know, after all. A few moments passed before the younger boy realized what he had actually considered. _Chigi_! What was he thinking?!

"Anyway," Arthur spoke up again, regaining Lovino's attention, "if there were more Feliciano's in the world, then I think everyone's teeth would be corroded with cavities. In society," Arthur's voice dropped to a low whisper, "naivety is something upon which is trampled, and generosity is something of which is taken advantage." Turning to Lovino, he gave him an encouraging smile with gentle green eyes, shimmering like emerald glass, and said, "Personally, I think it would be better if there was only one Lovino though because then we can have rare, valuable moments like these. Because there's only one of you, it keeps people wanting more... Is that how the saying goes?"

Lovino punched him in the shoulder and spat, red-faced, "Bastard, who do you think you are? Saying cheesy shit like that, dammit, i-it's... It's embarrassing!"

"Not as embarrassing as Carriedo, I hope," Arthur chirped, pinching Lovino's cheeks. "I would like to think that I'm on a whole different level than that bloody twit!"

"Try universe, you bastard! You're on a whole different universe!" Lovino shrieked.

Arthur laughed, reclining on his back, and stared into the blue sky. "Take care this summer, all right?" the blond told Lovino calmly. "You know the saying, 'work hard; play harder'? Try that out for a change. Oh, and don't blow a fuse at every little thing, understood? You won't be able to enjoy your summer that way. Just enjoy it."

"What are you? My mother? Stop telling me what to do, you _bastardo biondo_," Lovino snapped but without the usual hard edge to his tone. It was closer to playful but still a warning, threatening manner. The meaning was soon lost to Lovino, however, when he realized this would be their last lunch together. He felt his heart plummet into his stomach and wondered why the hell he was so crushed. Was it disappointment? Sadness? Fuck, he didn't know. Arthur was good at confusing people, including Lovino himself. The Italian sighed through his nose and turned towards Arthur with a hardness in his hazel eyes. He spoke firmly, "Don't get into any trouble over summer vacation, bastard. Even though you'll be away from all of these pieces of shit, I get a feeling you'll have one foot in the grave or whatever when we're off." Lovino leaned back against his palms, which were pressed against the tiles of the rooftop, and stared into the blue sky. "None of that 'living on the edge' crap you and the albino bastard are always doing. You scare the living shit out of people when you do that, dammit."

He remembered, more recently, how the bastards had thought it would be amusing, fun, and exciting to scale the side of the main building. "It would be a bloody hell lot faster than walking inside, dealing with other people, and having to take the stairs," Arthur had explained. Of course, President Wang of the student council had caught them in the act. Gilbert had already set up the bungee chord and everything, and Arthur had already started his ascent to the fourth floor. Lovino had probably never been so grateful to the president in his whole high school life until then. The Italian had nearly shit bricks when he saw Arthur right outside his window on the third floor. The blond had made a point to stop at Lovino's classroom to say hello, and, being the healthy sixteen year old boy he was, Lovino had experienced a heart attack for the first time in his life.

"While that does sound riveting," Arthur replied casually, "I'd rather relax with Winston and Elizabeth. I've too much excitement with Gilbert, Mathias, Alfred, Jia Long and even the Frog and Carriedo around. Those gits never give me a moment's rest." He sighed and leaned back, resting on his back, "I can't wait to get away from all this, frankly speaking."

"You sound like an old man talking about retirement," Lovino pointed out wryly. "Is it really that exciting?"

"Why, of course it is!" Arthur answered as a matter-of-factly. He still hadn't grinned or smirked, making Lovino doubt his words. The bastard was always teasing when it came to the people he could consider his friends. Lovino has never once heard Arthur refer to them as friends, however. "You try dealing with angry, hormonal oafs everyday and see how you like it."

"Although you seem to enjoy the fighting part, violent bastard."

"Do I? Well," Arthur smirked bitterly, "I guess it runs in the family." The blond then sealed his lips shut, and Lovino understood then that it was all he was ever going to hear about Arthur's family for now. "It does get your blood pumping though; all of that energy is overwhelming when you keep it bottled up. If... If I didn't fight, I would probably explode or break down or something when my tolerance and patience are tested."

Lovino nodded his head in agreement. "Summer is the worst time for it, too," the Italian mentioned. "For me, the sun is a catalyst for anger. Sometimes the heat feels good, but sometimes it's just too much. It makes it difficult to stay cool." He then copied Arthur's position, lying right beside the blond, and said, "I don't think I'll be able to do what you said, bastard, about blowing up at shit... But I'll try."

Arthur shifted his head slightly, giving Lovino a peek at his warm smile and his glowing green eyes, and assured, "Determination is key in achieving success. You don't have to keep it all bottled up, so release that energy somehow... It's just no good when you make someone cry." His voice faltered, and his green gaze was once more peering into the blue sky. Distant.

* * *

"Yay! Summer! Summer!" Feliciano exclaimed as he bolted past the school doors. "It's summer, _Fratello_!" The younger Vargas turned on his heel and beamed, "It's the first day of summer vacation - right on the summer solstice, too! How exciting, ve!"

"Chigi!" Lovino hissed at his brother, carrying both of their bags because Feliciano was just too absent-minded to remember that he brought shit to school. "Don't run off like that, _idiota_!" he scolded sternly, shoving Feliciano's school bag into his open arms. "You left your shit in the classroom; be more careful next time." Feliciano, undeterred, beamed and thanked his older brother.

"Ve, aren't you excited, _Fratello_?" Feliciano sang, circling around his older brother with a bounce in his steps. "We get to have the whole month of July to ourselves!"

"Cheh, yeah, whatever," Lovino responded irately, clicking his tongue in disdain. "That's fine for you, but which one of us works again? I won't have as much free time as you do, _idiota_!"

The smile on Feliciano's visage fell, and Lovino felt like kicking himself for having hurt his brother. The older Vargas clicked his tongue in mild irritation, and Feliciano had mistaken himself as his brother's source of exasperation, averting his coppery brown gaze to the ground instead. Lovino bit his tongue to prevent himself from saying a sarcastic remark and instead snapped, "Come on, Feli, let's go home."

"Ve, _scusami_," Feliciano murmured, attaching himself to Lovino's side.

"Don't apologize," Lovino muttered lowly so that only his brother could hear. "You did nothing wrong. Besides, I like working anyway; I get free pizza and shit." When Feliciano pressed himself even closer to his brother, Lovino glanced at the cowering boy and asked in a softer voice, "_Fratellino_, what's wrong? H-Hey, Feli?" He tried to keep the tremor from his voice, but it was no secret that the Vargas brothers were known to be cowardly. Still, as the older brother, Lovino tried to be strong or, at least, stronger than Feliciano.

"D-Don't look, _Fratello_, but it's _il Leone Rampante d'Inghilterra_," Feliciano whispered. "He's so scary, ve! I bumped into him one day and ran away before he could catch me! His eyes are really scary, _Fratello_! It's like they can burn holes into your body and kill you!"

Instead of doing what Feliciano suggested, Lovino turned his head to glance at his friend - yes? no? The blond bastard _did_ scare his brother... albeit unintentionally - and found that the older student was walking his motorcycle off campus with some Chinese kid - probably the Jia Long/Leon kid he mentioned before - before swinging one of his legs over the side of the sleek black bike, throwing a helmet onto his head, igniting the engine, and handing a second one to the younger boy. The Chinese kid put on the helmet and slid onto the back of the bike, wrapping his arms around Arthur's middle, succeeding in making Lovino's blood boil. What the hell were they doing?! Before Lovino could shout anything, the two of them already took to the streets.

The bastard was gone then.

So when would be the next time they would meet?

"Right," Lovino answered his brother hesitantly. "Let's go, Feliciano."

The younger boy glanced at his brother curiously before nodding his head and following Lovino down the side walk. "What about Antonio?" Feliciano inquired in all goodness.

"Cheh, tomato bastard's probably with his friends," Lovino responded dryly. "The albino bastard is most likely keeping them occupied with his stupid shit."

Oh, how wrong he was. Gilbert had planned an impromptu party at Pizzeria Romana and gathered all of his friends. Needless to say, Francis and Antonio had shown up. There was also Gilbert's childhood love, Elizaveta Hedervary, and her boyfriend, the third year musical prodigy, Roderich Edelstein. Other third year students included Kiku Honda, a mutual friend of Gilbert and Feliciano, Heracles Karpusi, Sadik Adnan, Mathias Kohler, a hulking friend of Gilbert, Eduard von Bock, and Lars de Vries. Second year students such as the Bonnefoy girls, Gilbert's own brother, Manon de Vries (Lars' much cuter, sweeter, adorable little sister), and Feliks and Toris were also invited. The rest, Lovino assumed, were first year students: two blond twins that Lovino faintly remembered seeing, Eduard and Toris' cousin, Raivis Galante, and the annoying Korean kid, Yong-Soo. He felt sorry for the sucker who had to tend to that table, especially when Feliciano scampered to sit between Ludwig and Kiku. How many people was that now? Twenty-two? No matter, he was the delivery boy, not a waiter -

"Hey, Vargas!" his boss shouted from behind the front counter, manning the register himself. He was a round, middle aged Italian man hailing from Chicago, Illinois, with graying dark hair and a thick mustache going by the name Luis Moretti. "We're going to be a little busy tonight, so if you aren't doing deliveries, man the floor!"

Well, _shit_.

"Hurry up and change into your uniform! We have an order for Main Street and Ninth!"

"_Sì, Signore!_" Lovino responded in his politest manner.

The brunet marched into the locker room, hurriedly changed into his polo and jeans, and shoved his school bag into his locker. Then one of his co-workers, a girl of Hispanic descent with curly brown hair, a dark complexion, and dark eyes named Rosa Martinez, handed him a notepad and a pen. She gave him a sheepish smile and pointed to the table full of his schoolmates. "They requested you specifically, so one of the other guys is going to handle the delivery," Rosa explained. "Good luck!"

"Oh, I'm going to need more than luck, _bella_," he returned with a charming smile. "I've had to deal with most of them for seven hours already."

"Well," she chirped merrily, "it's good to have a lot friends, right?" With that, she left Lovino to his table. He sighed, wondering if she had a point, before trekking to the noisy lot. Within a few seconds, he decided that Rosa was ultimately _wrong_. These bastards were no friends of his!

"Lovi!" they all chorused. Antonio grabbed hold of his waist and pulled him into a hug, nuzzling his middle. Lovino squirmed in his embrace and pulled away. He could feel a migraine coming on, and the Italian fervently prayed to God that it would not be like this for the upcoming six weeks he was supposed to have to himself.

"Alright, bastards, what do you want?" Lovino snapped, brandishing his notepad and his pen, glaring especially at Gilbert. It was, without a doubt, his idea. He nearly asked the albino why Arthur wasn't there but refrained as soon as he realized that nobody knew that the two of them were acquainted.

"Let's start out with ten pizzas - " Francis started, but he was quickly overwhelmed by Gilbert.

"Only _ten_?! Come on, some of us can devour three without breaking a sweat, Franny! Give us twenty!"

"I want pepperoni on top!"

"Ham and pineapple!"

"Ugh, yuck! No, just get sausage!"

"No, better yet, hamburger meat!"

Lovino swore he heard a faint "Canadian bacon."

God, it was going to be a long night.

"Hey, _amigos_, who's paying?"

Oh, _Dio mio_, did they just get _louder_?

* * *

"You're seriously going to stay here?" Arthur inquired as he towelled his hair dry. The blond sat on his couch, dressed only in a pair of red plaid boxers, before leaving his cotton towel hanging around his neck, exposing his bare, inked skin. "Honestly, this charade between you and your brother has gotten out of hand, _Leon_."

"Yeah, like you're one to talk," Jia Long retorted sardonically. The younger boy flipped through the channels on the flat screen TV, stopping momentarily on some haunted crap before switching to a film involving a certain tinker fairy and her adventures in Pixie Hollow. Just when he thought he had Arthur distracted by the fairies, Jia Long turned his head to see that his older friend was stoic now, more so than he usually is, ashen-faced. The younger of the two pulled his legs to his chest, and, sensing his reluctance, Elizabeth approached him. The Chinese student stroked her fur lightly. "Look, seriously, that was a low blow. I'm sorry, but, like," he broke away from his sentence, sighing, before resuming hesitantly and cautiously, "I don't know, Arthur. He pisses me off, and I piss him off. It's what brothers do. You know that! Just... Let me, like, stay here occasionally. I really will try to, like, make peace with him or whatever."

Arthur sighed, caving into his friend's request, but mentioned, "I'm a neutral party in this conflict. I will neither help nor fight you or Wang, understood?" The blond pursed his lips together to refrain from expressing any emotion before subconsciously cracking a smile when he heard Winston's stomach growl. The blond stood back onto his feet and announced, "I'm going to feed Winston and Elizabeth now. Do you want something?"

"Italian gelato," Jia Long answered shortly.

"Where the bloody hell am I supposed to get Italian gelato?" Arthur retorted as he poured dry kibble into Winston's food bowl and refilled his bowl of water. Elizabeth hopped from her spot on the arm of the sofa to nuzzle Arthur's right leg before nibbling on her cat food as well. Arthur thought of Lovino for a moment before shrugging the thought aside. "That was a rather random response as well."

"Meimei has been obsessed with Italian gelato since summer began," Jia Long explained. "I was wondering if you knew a place."

"Not at all, but something cold does sound pleasant," Arthur mused. The blond then asked, "Do you want some iced tea?"

"Do you have Oolong or jasmine or anything herbal?"

"Will Earl Grey suffice?"

"It tastes like shit."

"Then I suppose not."

"I'll, like, run to the closest burger joint then," Jia Long stated as he slipped on his jacket and stepped into his shoes, "to pick up two sweet teas and what?"

"I'm fine with anything," Arthur replied nonchalantly.

"Of course you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, nothing in particular."

"Cheeseburgers and fries then," Jia Long declared before stepping out the door, leaving Arthur to his pets. The Briton hummed to himself as he stroked Elizabeth's fur, thinking quietly about various things such as Jia Long's circumstances with Wang to his own family to Lovino's family to Lovino himself. How was the bloody little ankle-biter doing so far? Ha, knowing his luck, Arthur mused, Lovino probably had to deal with a demanding customer and already lost his cool. Oh, what Arthur would give to see that! The only connections Arthur had with Lovino, anyway, were the pizzeria and school.

It'll be a long summer.

* * *

**A/N: **For the most part, the introductions are over, and the real drama starts from here on. There are other supporting and minor characters to be added later into the story since it's a big cast... and I'm trying to build an entire island, not just a school, ha ha. Also, their roles will shift from least important to more important or vice-versa on occasion. Don't freak out if someone gets more than a cameo. Just a heads-up.

The following characters have unofficial names, by the way:  
Denmark - Mathias Kohler  
Netherlands - Lars de Vries  
Belgium - Manon de Vries

Regarding OCs - Most of them don't have much significance; I just needed a name to a face. For the remainder of the story, I usually will refer to Lovino's boss as "Boss" or "_Signore,_" and his colleagues are hardly ever mentioned again.


	6. Chapter 6 - The Empty Apartment

**Chapter Six: The Empty Apartment**

"Hey, Vargas!" called _Signor_ Moretti from within the kitchen. The pizzeria was built so that the servers could easily navigate the floor upon exiting the kitchen, which was separated from the main floor by a pair of swinging white doors with round glass windows. There was also an rectangular counter with an opening into the kitchen where the chefs could ring up an order to serve. In front of that open window was a marble counter with the cash register and free mints. It was a simple pizzeria ran by a family man for families, and so its warm and friendly atmosphere was what attracted patrons the most. "You have another delivery!"

Lovino threw aside his apron gladly in exchange for his moped keys. He would much rather deal with deliveries than interacting with customers. While a good number of clients were friendly, there were an exceptional few who were absolutely snotty and snobby. Somehow, on the rare times when he was on floor duty, Lovino would always be stuck with such customers, and after the fiasco last week regarding the party of twenty-two teenagers, _Signor_ Moretti was genuinely impressed with how Lovino had handled the scenario - especially when there were no complaints afterwards, only laughter. The brunet was simply spewing profanity, but nobody there seemed terribly offended! Neither Lovino nor the party exploded into a rampaging fury either!

Nevertheless, Lovino much preferred the deliveries because social interaction was limited to about five minutes unless there was some complaint to accompany the exchange. Most of the time was spent riding a moped as well, so the job was perfect for an introvert such as himself.

"_Sì, Signore?_" the brunet inquired as he reported to his boss. The bulky man handled him the address and the three boxes of pizzas, informing him that it should be a familiar address. Inquisitively, the Italian boy glanced over the address, hazel eyes widening from surprise, before tucking the three boxes safely into the insulated bag. "It's familiar, alright," he mumbled, making his boss beam proudly. "I'll be back as soon as possible."

Lovino hopped onto his moped after securing the delivery and took to the streets. Familiar street signs blurred past him as he wondered if the _bastardo biondo _had done this on purpose or if he was genuinely craving pizza. Maybe, though in regards to this assumption Lovino would never admit that he was hopeful, Arthur just wanted to see him. The brunet clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in - disdain? dismay? - annoyance and told himself that he was just imagining things that weren't there. The lion bastard said it himself, dealing with people from their school was troublesome, and wanted only to relax with his fleabags at home. Lovino was certain that he fell into the category of "people from school."

The delivery boy parked his moped in front of the building, removing the keys and arranging the bag so that the boxes fell against his hip, and marched into the build once he was prepared. The pretty redhead receptionist was on-duty today, and when she spotted Lovino, she smiled politely. "Delivery for Mr. Kirkland?" she questioned. Knowing that Winston was not out for a walk, she asked the younger, "Should I call him down today?"

"No, no," Lovino assured her with a seductive smile as he sauntered through the lobby, "it really is no trouble at all, _Signorina_. It is but a trivial matter."

"Oh, alright," she responded, seeming somewhat deflated, but recovered swiftly with another smile and chirruped, "but, if you need anything, my name is Jane Benjamin. Mr. Kirkland doesn't cook for himself often, so he usually goes out to eat or order take-out. I get a feeling we'll be seeing each other more and more then if he continues business with your establishment."

Lovino just nodded politely, smile lingering on his lips, not wanting to prolong a conversation, and headed to the elevator. He responded just before the doors slid open, "I don't know if I'll continue being the delivery boy, but my name is Lovino Vargas."

"That's a wonderful name," she chimed before Lovino disappeared behind the elevator doors. To himself, he thought that Jane Benjamin was a somewhat bland name belonging to a rather talkative woman. How could she easily spill details of another person's life? Some receptionist she was! Although Lovino doubted her ability, the brunet had to confess that she seemed a friendly soul.

Silently, he kicked the scuff of his shoe against the shiny tiles of the elevator. What the hell was this? White marble? Damn, it looked fancy. Anyway, Arthur didn't cook for himself? Now that he thought about it, the blond never brought his own lunch aside from the occasional sandwiches and "crisps" purchased from the convenience store. Maybe he didn't know how to cook. Surely, his parents would - ah, but last time, Lovino hadn't seen any parents. _Signorina_ Jane hadn't mentioned any parents either, but she would have surely seen them if Arthur still lived with his family... Did he live with his family? Lovino didn't know. Arthur never talked about his family - not by much anyway. In the last two months, Lovino has only ever recalled one instance where he spoke of his family.

He couldn't be living a healthy lifestyle. That was for sure.

As soon as the elevator rang for the twelfth floor, Lovino left the contraption and strolled down the familiar corridor, feeling faintly nervous. It's been a week since they last saw each other, so what should he say? Should he even say anything at all? He was working, after all, so should he just make the transaction and leave?

Forcing himself to knock on the front door, Lovino braced himself for what was to come. Just as the front door opened, a flash of white and brown leapt onto him, tackling him to the ground, and someone cried, "Not again, Winston!" The Briton pulled his bulldog off the delivery boy, setting the pup back into his flat, only for Elizabeth to sneak past him and nuzzle the Italian boy while he was on his arse. Arthur gave Lovino a wry smile and said, "They must really like you, Lovino. Sorry about this. Again." Today, Arthur was wearing a loose white v-neck t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans, barefoot. Casual and relaxed, just as the bastard had said he wanted.

Lovino clicked his tongue once again and rolled his eyes though he was more humored than annoyed. He accepted the offered hand and used it to propel himself back onto his feet. "It's nothing, bastard," the Italian snapped before handing over the three boxes of pizza. "At least I wasn't chased by him across town."

"That's happened before?" Arthur inquired, arms full and heavy, before jerking his head towards the living room. "Do you mind heading into the flat? It's hard to retrieve money while my hands are occupied."

"Oh - w-what? no, n-not to me - y-yeah, sure, dammit," Lovino stammered in mild confusion, not even sure what question he was answering at this point. That was a stupid move, the Italian scolded himself, kicking himself mentally for both having fucked up his response and forgetting that the customer couldn't pay when his arms were full and busy. Was it his first day of work again? God. Nevertheless, he stepped into the apartment and closed the door behind him before following Arthur into the main room, which was a combination of both a living room and kitchen. As he waited for Arthur to count his money, he was surprised to hear heavy metal pour from the small chain stereo on a side table next to the sofa. However, Lovino even more astonished to see that his "flat" was so empty. The white hardwood floor was barren save for a PlayStation 3 console, a pair of controllers, and an open game case. The only furniture in the room consisted of a black leather sectional with a side table, a coffee table where the pizza boxes were placed, a media stand with only total of three DVDs and/or video games, a dog bed placed to the side, and a flat screen TV. It was somewhat unnerving. Did a person live here? There were no decorations in the room or on the walls. The smell from the kitchen was simply sterile - no signs of cooking - and the appearance itself was rather lonely - as though Arthur had no need for it.

"I wish I could show you he is better behaved," Arthur confessed sheepishly as he paid in full and tipped Lovino considerately once more for his troubles. "Well, I suppose you could come over in order for that to happen - " Lovino's heart skipped a beat from the surprise " - but I wouldn't want to bother you on your vacation. How is that going, by the way?"

Lovino snorted. "All I've been doing is working. You remember what you said before we left?" A heavy blush coated his cheeks, but Lovino was oblivious to the fact that his company seemed captivated by the scarlet glow. Really, Lovino thought, oblivious to the setting, it would be embarrassing if the blond bastard hadn't. Still, the Italian brought himself to continue speaking, "That 'work hard; play harder' shi - " he corrected himself since he didn't want to seem too much of a dick " - _thing_? Well, I've been working hard, haven't gotten to the playing yet, bastard," he answered shortly. Before he left, he added, "The first day was fucking terrible."

"Oh, why was that?" Arthur was genuinely curious. He thought everyone was excited about having six weeks off school. For example, today was Michelle's birthday, and she was especially hyped up with her girls-only slumber party. He was only able to shoot her a text message wishing happy birthday since his calls were all forwarded to voicemail.

"The pizza's here?! _Süß_!"

"_That's_ - " Lovino pointed an accusing finger towards Gilbert " - why. This shitty bastard thought it would be a brilliant idea to dump twenty-two fucking hungry teenagers in a pizzeria on the first day of summer vacation upon hard-working employees, dammit."

"Hey!" Gilbert cried in astonishment, gliding over to his friends, before he threw himself onto the sofa. His lips stretched into a diabolical grin reaching from ear to ear. "It's Vargas! How awesome is this?! We could chill and play some awesome video games! How awesome are you at Tekken - "

"Dumbass, I have work to do," Lovino snapped impatiently, gesturing to his uniform. Checking the time, he pulled out his cell phone, an old iPhone from the second or third generation (he lost count) he had yet to exchange because, honestly, it would be a pain in the ass to reload his memory and crap. He had to get back to work soon since deliveries shouldn't take longer than an hour. It was well past twenty minutes already, and it took nearly ten minutes to get to and from the pizzeria. Had he really been here that long? "I have to go, bastards. See you around, maybe."

"My offer still stands, Lovino!" Arthur called to the brunet. The blond smiled softly at the younger Italian boy, making him red from the top of his head to the tip of his toes, down to his very roots. "You're welcome here any time."

Lovino quickly pivoted on his heel and, as a result of the force, slipped and lost his balance on the hardwood floor. Arthur instinctively reached for the boy, grabbing hold of his arm and pulling him towards his torso to prevent him from falling face-first onto the floor. If Lovino was red earlier, then he was burning crimson now, deeper and darker than any of his much loved tomatoes, and could feel the heat surge through his body like a violent current thrashing about his veins. As he moved to push Arthur away, his fingers brushed against the skin of his pale, muscular arms, sending trickles of electricity through his fingertips, fraying his nerve endings, and successfully freezing Lovino in place. The bastard was _cold_.

"Careful there," Arthur mused, smirk playing on his lips, voice a soft whisper, "you're a rather clumsy boy, aren't you?" His mirthful words brushed against the shell of Lovino's ear and sent shivers down Lovino's spine. Then, being the gentleman he claimed to be, Arthur steadied Lovino onto his feet. "I'll _definitely_ see you around. Please, allow me to see you to the door. I needn't you tripping on any more flat surfaces now, do I, Lovino?"

"B-Bastard," the Italian spluttered, turning away from the blond and ignoring Gilbert's sinister, snake-like snickers. He sulked away from the main room and to the front entrance, where Winston sat patiently to see him off, Elizabeth on top of his head. Just as he stepped out the door, the Scottish Fold rubbed her head against the fabric of his legs affectionately before he muttered, "_Ciao, bastardi_."

"Cheerio, little ankle-biter," Arthur chirped from the threshold, leaning against the frame and watching Lovino stalk down the hall indignantly and mentally beat himself up with pure and utter amusement. He turned his attention to Gilbert, who was already helping himself to his wurst-topped pizza.

"He has a boyfriend," Gilbert reminded blatantly.

"I know," Arthur responded just as curtly. When he reached for a slice of pepperoni pizza, the blond noticed that his friend was waiting for an explanation of sorts. Arthur himself wasn't sure where to start, so he didn't answer immediately. Instead, he remarked, "It's not like this is the first time that this has happened. I know the consequences, Gilbert. I'm not so much of an idiot to repeat history. I don't l-lo-lo - _you know_ - Besides, I... This flat - you know - I just... I _can't_ - "

"That's not what I was implying, Arthur," the albino muttered quietly. He chewed another bite as an excuse to contemplate his response. After he swallowed, the German elaborated, "I'm just worried for you."

The blond chortled bitterly and retorted, "You know me, I have a tendency to encounter and invite trouble."

"Anyway, how did the two of you meet?" Gilbert inquired curiously. "I didn't even know you guys knew each other."

"Funny story, that is," Arthur mused, reclining in his sofa as he finished off his slice of pizza. His green eyes followed his English bulldog, who had gone to his toy chest to fetch a small red ball. Now Elizabeth and Winston were pawing the rubber ball back and forth to busy themselves while their human was speaking with his friend. "I didn't expect to meet him either; I had no intentions of meeting him. It just happened. He's in Class 2-A, you know? We were in 2-A last year."

"The first day of the new school year then," Gilbert deduced confidently. "A consequence of you forgetting to check out your new classroom. I wouldn't call that a coincidence..."

"Then what would you call it?"

"_Verdammt_, I don't know! _You're_ the walking dictionary here! _You_ think of a word!" Gilbert snapped as he devoured another slice of pizza. "So you going to the Jones' place on the first for Mattie's awesome birthday?"

"July first? Isn't that Jia Long's birthday? I thought Matthew and Jones were twins - born on the fourth? Well, Jones said his birthday was on the fourth of July," Arthur responded in bewilderment. "We were going to go to the beach for Jia Long's birthday; it's the first of July as well."

"Yeah, Mattie and Al are twins," Gilbert confirmed with a nod. He scratched his head with a forefinger in mild confusion as he tried recounting the explanation the brothers had given him. "Mattie was premature or something though and came three days earlier than the expected date. Alfred was born on time or whatever, so their parents have separate birthday celebrations to make the boys feel special... But even though they say that, Mattie doesn't want a birthday party. He says he's too old or something. I think he's just shy."

"Huh," Arthur replied after a moment of processing the information. He reached for another slice of pizza and nibbled on the end for a while, thinking of a resolution to Gilbert's apparent problem. "Well, if Matthew doesn't want a party, then he could come to Jia Long's beach party. Technically, he would be partying, but it wouldn't be for him. It would be for Jia Long." Arthur smirked deviously. Gilbert knew that look. He had a plan. "Of course, it wouldn't be all that fair if it was only one person celebrating their birthday when there's two of them, would it?"

"A surprise party?" Gilbert concluded.

"Naturally," Arthur concurred. The blond turned his head to face his friend. "You want to stay and plan this out? We have a couple of calls to make if we want to do this. First, we have to make sure this is okay with Jia Long since it _is _his party we're manipulating."

"_Ja, ja_," the silver haired boy agreed hastily and eagerly. "The awesome me wants some of the credit, too! Besides, with me helping, this is going to be an awesome party! I'll call the first set of guests; you negotiate with Jia Long." Gilbert whipped out his flashy Samsung nearly the size of his entire hand and immediately dialled Elizaveta, making Arthur roll his eyes. The blond dug into his back pocket and pulled out his iPhone, ignoring the background picture, and scoured for Jia Long's contact information.

"Hello? Jia Long? I have a proposition to make regarding your party. I think you'll find it intriguing."

After successfully ringing up all of Jia Long's guests and informing them about the minor change of plans, Gilbert and Arthur finished off their three boxes of pizza and wrapped up the last rounds of their games. The albino ended up staying the night, knocked out from one too many bottles of ale, while Arthur was snuggled in his bed with his cat and his dog with dreams of schooling Gilbert in Tekken-styled fights.

* * *

The blond woke around eleven in the morning, frighteningly close to noon, and changed into proper outing clothes after brushing his teeth and half-heartedly taming his hair as much as he could. Arthur tugged on a pair of crimson jeans and pulled on a white, casual button shirt made of cotton over a low-cut muscle shirt, layering it with a casual black waistcoat left undone and a silver pyramid-studded belt hanging off his hips as well as a matching wristband around his left wrist. The blond then slipped into his black socks, plopped a black fedora onto his head, and stepped into his combat boots, lacing them appropriately, before reaching for Winston's lead.

He strolled into his kitchen with his pets following his trail quietly, aware that they were not to disturb their human's guest lest they were to be warned with a threatening green gaze even more ferocious than the glares of the garden gnomes when they accidentally trample on the daisies and lilies and roses outside. Arthur poured Elizabeth's cat food as quietly as he could, stroking her fur and whispering for her to be good while he and Winston were away. The blond reached for his keys and locked up his flat after firmly attaching Winston's lead to the leather collar. The two of them headed down the lift and greeted Miss Jane before taking their usual route to a café that would allow Winston to be on the premises so long as Arthur was seated outside.

After stopping for a few children to pet Winston both shyly and excitedly, the two of them were able to reach the café without so much of a problem. (Winston was damn set on chasing some squirrel up a bloody tree until Arthur tugged fiercely on his lead.) Much to the Briton's surprise, however, was the Italian brunet flirting with the pretty blonde waitress - a new face with whom Arthur was not yet familiar. Smirking, Arthur joined him without so much of a request and greeted him, "Good morning, Lovino! Who is this pretty little bird?"

Surprise overwhelmed the Italian momentarily as he looked Arthur up and down, face turning slightly pink. However, he quickly recovered and responded just as smoothly, "_Buongiorno_, Arturo! This is _la bella Signorina _Laura."

Arturo? the Englishman mused. Since when had Lovino called him _Arturo_? He barely ever called him by his own name, Arthur. "Why, it's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Laura," Arthur returned suavely in a thicker, deeper accent without so much touching his regional roots. A good number of people outside East End could barely understand the dialect, even less so when slang was used, even though the Briton took pride in his origins. "My name is Arthur."

"A-A pleasure," she replied in a mild stupor. "Could I get you something to drink?"

"Oh, yes, of course! I would like a cup of Earl Grey with three sugars and a dash of milk, please," Arthur answered with a charming smile rivalling that of Lovino's.

"Understood, sir."

"Just Arthur is fine, luv."

She blushed. "Right, I'll be back with your drinks soon."

"_Grazi, bella_," was uttered at the same time as, "Ta, luv!"

As soon as Laura left, Lovino turned to glare at Arthur. "What was that 'love' shit? I've never heard you say anything like that before! The closest you could get to affection is 'git'!" the Italian exclaimed indignantly.

At this, Arthur chuckled lowly as he tied Winston's lead around his seat to make sure that his pup wouldn't stray anywhere too far. "Well, in my defence, I've never seen you smiling like that or speaking so smoothly either," the blond retorted calmly.

"I'm Italian," Lovino answered as though it was a sufficient answer, "and Italy is the country of seduction, _capito_?"

"Yes, and girls rather fancy British accents," Arthur remarked just as brusquely and sarcastically. "Really, I've never seen you behave in such a way before. It's quite fascinating. Do you act like this around every woman?"

"...pretty much, _sì_."

"Huh, interesting," Arthur mused to himself. "Say, that reminds me, you want to go to a party tomorrow?"

"_Che cazzo_? How does _that _remind you about a party?"

"Because there are girls at a party, git."

"And there we go with the British insults," Lovino grumbled.

"Like you're one to talk, I _know_ you just cursed in Italian," Arthur sneered though there was no malice in his voice. It possessed the bitter tone of sarcasm but was still playful in a sense. "Anyway, yes or no? I think Gilbert called your brother to tell you blokes, but I wasn't sure if you got the message since - no offence intended or anything - your brother is quite..." Arthur trailed off, searching for a proper term "...an airhead."

Lovino clicked his tongue in condescension directed more towards his absent brother than towards Arthur. "I know, and you're not wrong either," the Italian responded casually. "He didn't tell me crap about a party. Feliciano probably got too excited by himself and forgot or some dumb shit." At this, he snorted at the memory. It would explain why he was rushing out of the house to buy extra pasta. "So... there's a party?"

"West Side Beach," Arthur answered without missing a beat. After having rung numerous people to confirm the location and time, he had practically every detail memorised. "We're celebrating Jia Long and Matthew's birthday, but Matthew doesn't know. It's a surprise on his half."

"I thought the quiet bastard was the noisy bastard's twin."

"He is," Arthur assured, "but he was born three days premature, coinciding with Jia Long's birthday. Apparently, he didn't want a birthday party when his brother's was just right around the corner."

"Cheh, makes sense, I guess."

"We'll be getting set up around four, by the way, so if there's nothing you want to volunteer to do, then arriving after five is fine. The party isn't over until the last person leaves."

"Alright," Lovino agreed. "My shift ends around four since we have some new bastards working part-time for the summer. I'll bring any leftover pizza that _Signor _Moretti doesn't want - nothing expired, swear to God."

Arthur laughed. "Bloody brilliant! See you there, then!" When Laura returned with their drinks, he missed the blush on Lovino's face and the smile he was trying to hide.

* * *

**A/N: **In regards to Matthew's and Alfred's birthdays, I believe it's called a delayed birth interval. When one twin is born prematurely, the doctors may be able to halt labor and keep the other twin in the mother's womb to develop fully. Other doctors may do C-section or whatever though so that both twins are born on the same day and to avoid any sort of infection. Originally, I considered giving Matthew and Alfred July 2 as their birthday (since it was half of four and double of one), but I went with the former option because it was more purposeful to the story.

Also, the receptionist of _L'Oiseau Bleu_, Jane Benjamin, got her name from when I was listening to "Diary of Jane" by Breaking Benjamin. There's no other meaning to her name, but she does have a recurring role that ranges from one line to an entire scene depending on the chapter. The characters will refer to her as Jane from now on. Contrary to Jane, Laura the waitress rarely ever appears again.


	7. Chapter 7 - The Beach

**Chapter Seven: The Beach**

All of the attention on the beach effectively shifted to an army green replica of the military vehicle, a Volkswagen Iltis, customized to appear as though it had been through battle and Hell itself - with chipped paint, bullet holes, and charred metal - and back again in order to suit its even flashier owner. The vehicle was host to four rambunctious teenagers as it rolled into the parking lot, blaring 1980s punk and heavy metal. In the driver's seat was a young German man, wearing nothing but a pair of black and white swim trunks with the Prussian eagle, a dark gray muscle shirt, and cheap rubber flip-flops costing only two euros, exposing his pale, translucent skin to the harsh rays of the sun, and a prissy young Frenchman dressed in an unbuttoned short-sleeved silk shirt with floral print, white swim trunks with red stripes running down the sides, and woven designer sandals was seated in the passenger seat. The aforementioned young Frenchman was trying to change the music to something, _anything_, on the mainstream radio. He would have been successful as well if it wasn't for the fact that the young Englishman, dressed in a pair of swim trunks with the Union Jack and a thin white hooded pullover that hid his well-built muscles and inked skin even with the sleeves rolled all the way to his elbows, seated in the back kept whacking his hand away from the knobs with a beach umbrella. Of course, the young Englishman himself was hindered by the young Spaniard, shirtless and in a pair of deep red swim trunks with golden accents, who also occupied the back of the Volkswagen. The Spaniard was also hellbent on making a point that he wasn't planning on sharing the backseat either. There were innumerable attempts to throw the Englishman over the side of the car just as there were innumerable attempts to keep the English bulldog accompanying them inside the car, afraid that he would leap out of the vehicle in all of his excitement. (The Scottish Fold had opted to stay in the comfortable air conditioned apartment today, not one for the hot blazes of the sun.)

Gilbert pulled his custom jeep - self-modified, he had boasted, by the awesome me - into a parking slot, perfectly aligned, and killed the engine. As soon as he did so, two other parties greeted the new arrivals. The first party consisted of Yao Wang and his siblings, Jia Long and Xiao Mei, all of whom were dressed a little more conservatively. Well, Yao definitely was; his younger siblings looked like fashion models from some Asian street catalogue, beach edition. The oldest Wang was dressed in swimming trunks and a t-shirt with cheap rubber sandals. Jia Long, on the other hand, donned a pair of swim trunks and a sleeveless hooded jacket, walking barefoot, and Xiao Mei wore a sleeveless white sundress with a frilled and laced skirt over a peach two piece swimsuit that tied around her neck. Woven flat sandals adorned with light peach flowers to match the ones in her hair protected her feet though they had done little to keep the sand away.

The second party, on the other hand, consisted of Elizaveta Hedervary, Roderich Edelstein, and Ludwig, Gilbert's younger brother, all of whom had volunteered to help set up their pavilion tent and get the food ready. Elizaveta was already dressed in her green two-piece bikini with a teal sarong wrapped around her hips as a cover-up much of the men were slightly disappointed to see while Roderich was dressed as stiffly as ever in a pair of khakis and a white button shirt. At least, and this made Gilbert rather proud, Ludwig was dressed more appropriately. The younger boy was wearing a black tank much like his brother with a pair of khaki shorts.

"You guys can't go a second without making a scene, can you?" Elizaveta admonished accusingly as she approached them. Arthur and Antonio hopped out of the back, Winston following their example, only to be caught by Arthur before he damaged a bone or two, and then lifted the cooler filled with bags of ice out of the back as well after the blond clipped a lead to Winston's collar and secured it around his wrist. Gilbert and Francis grabbed the packs of soda and handed them to Ludwig and Roderich before pulling the packs of bottled water out of the back. Knowing that they were going to be with a number of uptight honor students at a party thrown for minors, the boys had opted to abandon the alcohol lest they be lectured by Yao Wang, Elizaveta, Roderich, _and_ Ludwig. "Do you have anything else?" the Hungarian girl inquired skeptically as soon as she saw what they were carrying. The brunette knew all too well how Gilbert felt about beer, after all.

"Nope, the awesome me, being so observant that I am, decided to leave behind _das Bier _so Wang here wouldn't get his panties in a knot!" Gilbert cackled. The Chinese man glared indignantly at the comment but said nothing in response to the barbaric German. Really, why couldn't he be more well-behaved like his little brother? That ought to be a shame! "Anyway, let's get moving! Did you guys pick out a spot yet?"

"Of course, we did! We got here almost thirty minutes before you guys!" Yao snapped. "We had to get _something_ done! Did you think we were going to wait for you?!"

"Ouch," Gilbert returned with feigned hurt.

"_Oui_," Francis contributed just as melodramatically, sighing, "and after all the trouble we went through to buy the biggest cooler we could find in three stores!"

"Like, only three?" Jia Long commented sarcastically.

"Give or take a few," Arthur piped up with a wry smile as he tried to prevent Winston from pulling him along. "Okay, take away two, actually. We went to some outdoors place and just got the biggest cooler we could find there."

"Points to honesty," Jia Long remarked with a roll of his eyes. He jerked his head towards the direction of the beach and said, "Let's get going. We still have a lot to do." The conjoined parties willingly obliged and followed the birthday boy to the beach, where a moderately sized white pavilion tent was already set up. There was a rather large grill yet to be prepared and a plastic table with only a couple of bags of potato chips and a few jars of dip.

"Set the cooler there," Yao instructed as he pointed a corner diagonal to the grill. He emptied a bag of charcoal into the grill and said that he would get started on the fire.

"What meats do we have?" Francis inquired curiously.

"Elizaveta and I brought hot dogs, hamburger meat, and buns," Roderich informed politely. "I believe Yao has brought some marinated barbeque meat."

The Chinese young man nodded sagely. "Yes, Korean BBQ," he confirmed, "for that noisy Yong-Soo. It really is quite good though."

"Speaking of hamburgers, Jones said that he would bring - and I quote - 'everything we need, dudes,'" Arthur added as he emptied a plastic bag of ice while Antonio dumped a multitude of soda cans into the cooler. At Arthur's imitation of the American, however, everyone burst out laughing, including the stiffer ones of the party. It was completely perfect, after all, in comparison to Alfred's failure of an attempt at a "British" accent. ("Of what region? Oh, never mind that! Of what _country_?" Arthur had often teased him.) For a moment, everyone continued their jobs in relative silence. Arthur and Antonio continued preparing the cooler with Gilbert taking up the responsibility of shooting water bottles inside the cooler like a basketball, much to Yao and Roderich's disapproval, from the other side of the pavilion. Elizaveta seemed half-tempted to join his game and beat him though. Meanwhile, Yao, Francis, and Roderich were trying to tame the fire, and Jia Long and Xiao Mei were idly eating a bag of chips, waiting for the taller guests to arrive. Winston laid at Arthur's feet, content with licking a cold ice cube, before it mysteriously disappeared, making the dog whine. Arthur handed him another ice cube with a brief pat on the head. "I also spoke with Lovino Vargas, and he said that he would try to bring some pizzas from Pizzeria Romana."

"_You spoke to my Lovi_?" Antonio seethed from the other side of the cooler, glaring adamantly at the Englishman.

The blond returned his glare with a void and empty expression in his green eyes, which darkened slightly due to the lifelessness, before remarking, "Yes, I have a mouth and all of its components - tongue, lips, teeth, you know, the works - along with vocal chords. I believe I can speak and am capable of speaking to whomever I please." The Briton scoffed lightly at the scandalised visage that overcame Antonio's features, knowing that he had just heightened the Spaniard's suspicions tenfold. "It was a coincidental meeting anyway. You have no need to be concerned; what I am to do? Steal your boyfriend?"

"Oh, regarding _l'amour_, _Rosbif_, I have something to propose to you," Francis spoke up before the matter spiralled out of hand. He figured this was as good as any other time.

"I'm not marrying you, Frog."

"This is not about that one time of which we have agreed never to speak again!" Francis exclaimed indignantly. Of course, this had managed to successfully capture everyone's attention in the tent.

"Those were the words that came out the last time after you said, 'I have something to propose to you,'" Arthur countered bitterly, ignoring the shocking sensation that was overwhelming their friends. "What am I to expect of you, Frog?"

"Kesesese! Franny proposed to you, Artie?" Gilbert sniggered.

"Oh my!" Elizaveta squealed.

"_Amigo_, since when were you - for this _diablo_, you- what is - I don't even - ?"

"_Aiya_! Let's just hurry up and set up the stupid tent! Stop wasting time, and, Kirkland, stop feeding your dog ice cubes!"

"_Ça suffit_!" Francis cried in distress. "This is regarding _ma cousine_, Michelle! I think she has _un harceleur_, and I wanted to ask Arthur to do something about it!"

"A stalker?" Arthur repeated, appalled, with wide eyes. Sure, he knew that Chelly was an attractive girl, but he never thought or even imagined that she would one day have a stalker. (Then again, he never actually wished her ill will.) Regaining his wits, Arthur resumed emptying a second bag of ice into the cooler while Antonio emptied a pack of Coca-Cola, knowing that this was not his place to interfere. He did, however, listen out of concern for his friend - as they all did. "Dear God, how did this happen?"

"_Je ne sais pas_," Francis responded dejectedly. "She works at an ice cream parlor, you know? She says she recognized him from there. Anyway, as the head of the disciplinary committee, I would like you to help her - me, her, and our family - Arthur,_ s'il te plaît_ - I ask of you - "

"Lift your head, Francis," Arthur barked. "We may have been lifelong enemies in our past and current lives, but I have no intention of doing you this one favour - " at this, Francis' face fell " - as an officer, that is." Arthur smirked. "We _are _some sort of twisted definition of friends, so I will help you and Chelly."

_"Merci beaucoup, Rosbif! Je n'oublierai jamais ce moment!"_

"Yeah, yeah, keep your chin up, Frog," Arthur returned in his friendliest manner.

"Please, all of you, keep this a secret," Francis pleaded with their witnesses. "I need not matters spiraling out of control." The rest of them reluctantly agreed - though Roderich, Ludwig, and Yao still believed he ought to get a policeman, which Elizaveta, Gilbert, and Antonio found useless, involved - and returned to their merry-making.

Soon enough, the Canadian-American twins arrived. According to the brothers, Matthew was born on Canadian land while the family was on vacation, and Alfred was born on American soil after they returned to Boston. As though to support this story, Alfred was wearing a pair of swim trunks with the American flag, and Matthew wore swim trunks with the Canadian maple leaf. Of course, neither boy bothered to explain why they had different last names since they claimed that it was a long story, but nobody really cared enough to learn why. All that really mattered was that both boys carried lettuce, sliced tomatoes, cheese, and everything else needed for hamburgers to the pavilion without getting sand into the ingredients. Following after them were Kiku and Yong-Soo, who had arrived at the same time, not together, as Kiku had feverishly explained to avoid any misconceptions. Yong-Soo was boldly shirtless, carrying his clothes in a string bag on his back, while Kiku was dressed similarly to Yao in a t-shirt and shorts.

The Korean boy had brought a small chain stereo with an iPod/MP3 dock to play anyone's music. It was currently blaring Korean pop, much to Arthur's disdain and Alfred's fascination, that Jia Long was trying to change to Cantonese pop though Yong-Soo - defying his own words that the stereo was open for anyone's use - kept playing his boy bands and girl groups. On the other hand, Kiku had brought a scrumptious cake with a chocolate plate reading, "Happy birthday!" in white frosting and handed it to Yao, who placed it on the table right beside the chips. Soon afterwards, Feliciano and Lovino Vargas had arrived in matching outfits: white t-shirts and similarly styled swim shorts, only in different colours - Feliciano in green, Lovino in red. The younger of the Italian twins bounced towards the beach with a pan covered by aluminium foil, topped with a mountain of paper plates and plastic wares, with which Ludwig and Gilbert immediately assisted, while the older was having difficulty carrying almost nine boxes of pizzas. Arthur and Antonio jogged to the older Vargas, each taking three boxes, and carried the new load to the plastic table.

"So how are we doing this shit, bastards?" Lovino inquired, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to relax his sore muscles.

"Well, we were just going to have a food pavilion as an area to keep the wind from blowing sand - or, at least, too much sand - into the food," Arthur informed politely, trying to hold back Winston from jumping on the Italian boy. "We were just about to put up the netting when you arrived - oh, for Pete's sake!" Arthur yanked on the lead "Win - " Arthur grunted " - ston! Hold still!"

Lovino smiled and shyly patted the dog between the ears.

"He really likes you."

"Cheh, I can tell," Lovino responded dryly, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, get one of the tall bastards to do it," Lovino muttered grumpily. "And what the hell is playing?" He could faintly catch "Hey, sexy lady!" in the lyrics and only stole a glimpse of the source, averting his gaze when he saw Alfred and Yong-Soo doing some strange dance.

Arthur chuckled and remarked wryly, "My thoughts exactly," at the same time as Antonio's, "Lovi, you look so cute today!"

Both their voices were overpowered by Feliciano's, "Ve! Look! Fratello and I made _fettucine alla bolognese_! It's super yummy!"

"Jia Long!" a voice over the hills cried. Heads turned to see Emil Steilsson sliding down the sandy dunes with his half-brother, Lukas Bondevik, and their friend, Mathias Kohler, with his cousin, Berwald Oxenstierna, who, naturally, brought along his "wife," Tino. The Icelandic boy gave his best friend one of his rare smiles and chirped, "Happy birthday!"

"Thanks, Emil," Jia Long replied, returning the smile that quickly flashed away as though it had never existed in the first place. Nobody seemed to be fazed by the quick smile as hardly anyone but Arthur and Emil even noticed. Before Yao could say anything, Jia Long mentioned in an offhand manner, "We need a little help with the tent."

That made Mathias laugh and chirped, "Alright, that's a pretty obvious cry for help! I'll help you guys out!" With that, Mathias went to fetch one end of the clear plastic tarp while he tossed Berwald the other end. Gilbert and Ludwig were already setting up one side of the tent while Matthew and Alfred were handling the third, and Francis and Roderich were fixing the curtains through which people could enter and exit the tent. Antonio had pulled Lovino away to grab the first plate of food when more and more of the party guests poured into the beach.

There was everyone from the S-Class, including Vash Zwingli and his sweet little sister, Lili from 1-A, and a good number of other third years. Lovino was able to recognize the ones whom he served on their first day of vacation at the pizzeria, Sadik Adnan, Eduard von Bock, and Lars de Vries with his sister, Manon, who happened to be in Lovino and Feliciano's class. There was a third year student he faintly recalled seeing in the halls, a Romanian boy named Vladimir, who was always wearing a strange tiny top hat and had a strange pointed canine and oddly colored pink eyes that Lovino was convinced were contacts. At any rate, the Romanian boy approached Arthur unabashedly and struck a conversation with him and Lukas without missing a beat. (Lovino couldn't ever recall the three of them being friends though.) Even Ivan Braginski and his sisters, Natalia and Katyusha, managed to make an appearance at Yao's invitation. The Russian seemed particularly amenable today even around Alfred.

The Bonnefoy girls arrived as well. Émilie was dressed in a pink tankini top with a pair of white denim shorts while her cousin wore a blue bikini boldly complimenting her curves. Lovino caught sight of Francis whispering something into Michelle's ear, causing her to blush and stomp towards Arthur, angrily snatching his hand and holding it in hers. She pulled him down with a powerful yank and whispered something to him that made him nod in understanding. He patted her head, consequently running his fingers lightly through her dark hair, making her flush with embarrassment, with a subtle smile only the two of them could see. Lovino fumed. What the hell did he just see? Shameless bastard, flirting right in front of him - in front of _everyone_! - like it was just the two of them in the world!

The Bonnefoy girls weren't the only second years beside him and his brother and the potato eater though. The cross-dresser Feliks had accompanied his shyer friend, Toris, to the party and made a point to announce boisterously that he was Toris' date – although Lovino was pretty damn sure that they came from the same car as Eduard. Surprisingly, the reserved Vietnamese vice-president of the student council, Lien Nguyen, dressed in a light jade green sundress and straw sun hat, also made an appearance with her Thai and Macanese friends, Nirand and Lin Tou, all of whom wished Jia Long a happy birthday. The only other first years that arrived later were the Cuban, Ricardo Cruz, who had come to wish his friend Matthew a happy birthday, and Raivis Galante, who had come with his cousins, Toris and Eduard.

"Lovi, do you want to swim?" Antonio chirruped beside him on the beach towel he and his friends - Gilbert and Francis because _el diablo Inglés_ was definitely _not _his friend - had brought. They sat underneath a red and white beach umbrella, listening to Yong-Soo's Korean pop while eating from a plate that Antonio piled with food.

"Dumbass, if we swim now, we'll get cramps," Lovino pointed out dryly. He watched as Gilbert roped the three mystic bastards - Arthur, Lukas, and Vladimir, who were all pretty damn dark and mysterious - into a game of beach volley ball with him, Alfred, and Mathias. Arthur was all too eager to join, being the competitive bastard that he was, and dropped off his dog with Lovino without hearing a single protest, securing the lead around Lovino's wrist, making the Italian blush furiously in embarrassment at the skin contact. Of the other two mystic bastards, Lukas was too tempted by the prospect of beating Mathias to care that he didn't even know the rules of beach volley ball, and Vladimir, not wanting to be left out, happily complied.

"Hey!" Ludwig exclaimed from the pavilion. "_Bruder_! Don't forget your sunblock! You are at higher risk for sunburns and skin cancer!"

"_Ja, ja_! Don't get so uptight, Lutz! See! Sunblock! I'm putting it on now! Here, Arthur, catch!"

Lovino's hazel eyes widened to the size of the moon upon watching Arthur strip off the thin hoodie, gulping saliva that began flooding his mouth before it had a chance to drip past the corners of his lips, but, despite that, his surprise wasn't well masked either. He didn't even notice that Winston had ate the hot dog Antonio had put on his plate and was now licking the side of his face in appreciation. "D-Damn," he muttered subconsciously.

The blond had an image of a golden lion and a silver unicorn on their hind legs battling each other with a red dragon hovering above them, circling his arm like a band or a ring, on his upper left arm. Over his heart was an image of a rose inked with red and white petals, green leaves, and a gold center while a red electric guitar was inked on the left side of his abdomen, wrapped with wiry thorns like barbed wire and surrounded by plush white feathers like ones from an angel's wings. When he turned, Lovino caught sight of yet another tattoo on Arthur's right calf and wondered how he hadn't noticed it before. Sitting upon a blooming rose was a lithe, slender, barefooted woman with pointed ears and long, silvery hair cascading down her back. Seemingly iridescent wings sprouted from her back, and a flower crown graced her hair while rose petals made her dress. Then on his back was four blue sirens and mermaids feverishly, fervently, and furiously pulling apart a Jolly Roger set upon a flag with a background made of a swirling, spiraling pattern resembling a sort of Gothic, Victorian theme in black and blue. The flag ripped apart by the mermaids and sirens was further torn into two to reveal Arthur's bare flesh and faint white scars clawing down his back, from each corner. Lovino was positive those scars were not inked, but nobody else seemed to notice them.

Of course, Arthur's inked skin did not captivate only Lovino. A good number of guests both inside and outside their party stared in awe. Yao was one of the few who scoffed in revulsion, and Lovino's own brother, however, was one of the few who approached the blond bastard about the designs. "Ve! What's all of this?" he inquired curiously, momentarily forgetting the fact that he was deathly afraid of the green eyed wonder. Feliciano poked Arthur's red guitar, and Lovino blew a fuse. A part of him nearly exploded and shouted, "Why the hell are you touching him, _idiota_?!" but he contained himself. What does it matter who touched him or whatever?

"Oh, this? This is Lucy," Arthur explained nonchalantly, unperturbed by Feliciano's sudden interest in his skin. He even allowed Feliciano to rub the sunblock on his skin just so the air-headed artist could get a closer look, dammit! "She's George Harrison's Gibson Les Paul, originally a Goldtop, see. John Sebastian used to own her until he traded her for an amplifier when his blew up, and the next bloke - Rick Derringer - had her refurbished with a clear red finish popular with SG models when she was looking a little worn for wear. When it was done, he didn't quite like the feel, so he turned her into a shop in New York, where Eric Clapton bought her. In August of 1968, Clapton gave it to his good friend, George Harrison of the Beatles, who named her Lucy after the redhead comedian, Lucille Ball. To me, this guitar is legendary, so I had her inked with thorns and wires to remind myself that, should I ever encounter Lucy, to keep my mitts off. She was kidnapped once, you know? I'm afraid that I would be the next bloke to do it."

"And this?" Feliciano bent to point to the woman on his calf.

"That would be my interpretation of Titania, Queen of Fairies," Arthur answered proudly. "I think that she would be best known for her role in Shakespeare's _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, but she is portrayed differently in popular media and culture, depending on what it is, of course."

"What about this?" Feliciano inquired of the rose on his chest.

"That, lad, is the English Tudor rose," Arthur replied, proudly, "national emblem of England. The red rose itself is considered as the national flower of England."

"And that?" Feliciano pointed to the image on his left biceps.

"Right, the lion is a symbol of England, the unicorn is Scotland, and the dragon is Wales - three nations of the United Kingdom. I hadn't thought about what to do with Northern Ireland just yet," Arthur confessed. "It's bloody moronic to have a random shamrock or leprechaun with a lion, dragon, and unicorn. The image loses its ferocity."

"Maybe I can help with that!" Feliciano beamed, all fear of Arthur dissipating, and Lovino wanted to smack that silly smile off his face. When Arthur gave him a warm smile like he was staring at a small child, the older Vargas wanted to scream at him, too.

"Thanks, lad," Arthur responded shortly.

"And on your back?"

The smile on his lips turned bitter, but nobody seemed to notice except for Lovino. It was a sensitive subject, and the older Vargas wanted to knock Feliciano upside the head for even bringing it up. "Sirens and mermaids are said to lead sailors to their deaths at sea," he answered shortly. "It's a reminder of the past." The blond didn't seem to mind so much when Feliciano still hovered about him curiously, staring at the inked skin with pure and utter fascination, even after the game commenced and even after he was done putting on sunblock, passing it to the next person to use. Lovino did mind though. What the hell was that idiot doing - getting so close to Arthur?! It was ridiculous! The heated Italian hadn't even noticed that he was staring enviously at his brother and longingly at Arthur's skin, but Antonio had and rightly directed the source of his anger to Arthur. Dammit, Lovino cursed, he wanted to get a closer look, too. However, he was here with Antonio, and Arthur was with his friends.

"So how long did it take to do?" Feliciano asked curiously as Arthur spiked the beach ball over the net, standing on the sidelines and covering his head to prevent any stray balls from hitting his head.

"The smaller ones took around an hour. The guitar no more than three, if I recall correctly," Arthur smacked the ball to Lukas, who returned it to the opposite party, "and the one on my back took a few days to get all of the mythical creatures and designs done correctly. I didn't get it done all at once though. Lucy was my first - got her done about three years ago."

"Wow! And did it hurt?"

"Mildly, yes," Arthur answered before returning the beach ball and scoring another point for his team. He cursed when Alfred served a monster ball that left a deep indention in the sand. He cast a glare to the youngest member of the disciplinary committee. "That's it!" he tossed the ball into the air and slammed his palm against it, returning the favour in full. The surprise lasted on both sides before the game was called to a tie by Elizaveta, who wanted to do a girls' game. Her suggestion was fully supported by Yong-Soo and Francis.

Feliciano's fascination didn't last long when Ludwig and Kiku approached him with plates of food. Feliciano eagerly grabbed a plate of food and sat with a sulky Lovino, irritated Antonio, and concerned Winston, who nuzzled Lovino curiously. Oblivious to the atmosphere as per usual, Feliciano chirped, "Artù is an interesting person, ve, _Fratello_?" while happily petting Winston.

"Since when did you call that bastard 'Artù'?" Lovino retorted snarkily, taking a bite of his pizza and shoving a plastic fork full of pasta into his mouth. The older Vargas was adamantly avoiding the hamburgers and hot dogs Yao and Roderich were taking turns grilling unlike his younger brother, who savored foreign foods, and instead fed them to Winston. "I thought he was _il Leone Rampante d'Inghilterra_."

"Ve, it's not nice to judge people by the cover, _Fratello_," Feliciano replied sagely with a slow nod of his head as though to reaffirm that statement.

Lovino's face gradually turned and glowed a dangerous red, fuming, before he muttered an exasperated, "Cheh, whatever, _idiota_." Lovino glared at Ludwig, deciding to take out his anger on the unsuspecting muscle-head inside, and asked, "What the hell are you doing here, potato eater?"

"Err, I was invited?"

"By who?"

"Jia Long?"

"Cheh."

"You look cranky, _Fratello_," Feliciano sang before leaning over and wrapping his arms around his brother's shoulders. "That's no good! You should enjoy yourself! Look, pretty girls!" Feliciano pointed to the girls playing volleyball. Manon, Lili, and Elizaveta were on one team while the Bonnefoy girls and Xiao Mei were on the other team with Lien Nguyen as an alternate for either side. The game quickly ended with Elizaveta's team taking victory though.

"Who wants to play chicken?!" Mathias boomed, cracking with wild laughter as he lifted Lukas onto his shoulders. The Norwegian boy glared indignantly at the brute below him but had little effect. Instead, in order to avoid face planting in the sand, he grabbed hold onto the brawny shoulders.

"Awesome! Lizbet! Come on, let's team up!" Gilbert crowed.

"No way!" Elizaveta snapped angrily, crossing her arms over her chest and retreating to the food pavilion, where she helped Roderich serve food to their guests. Gilbert pouted until he roped a curious Xiao Mei into playing on his team. The latter ended up running to Kiku to pull him into the game and raced into the nearest bathroom to change into the beachwear she had brought with her, a conservative white one piece with a sarong similar to Elizaveta's, once more leaving Gilbert alone. Feeling pity for the poor soul, Émilie reluctantly became his partner.

In the meanwhile, Francis had pushed a reluctant Michelle into Arthur's arms, and Lovino thought he heard something snap when Arthur lifted Michelle onto his shoulders. He gave the islander a comforting smile when she voiced her anxiety. Lili was prevented from joining by her overprotective brother, but a soft place in Emil's heart volunteered in her place. Jia Long, in the midst of the mayhem, thought it to be amusing to have the Nordic brothers face off and ended up carrying Emil on his shoulders. However, his strength was lacking, and his friend was more concerned than amused for both their sakes when Jia Long was having trouble staying upright. They weren't the only ones struggling either. Feliks had decided to join the game, and Toris was struggling to support both of their weights as well. Nirand ended up forcing Lien into game even though she was arguing heatedly about how she was wearing a sundress - not swimwear - to which Elizaveta mentioned how she brought a spare in her car. Lien squeaked when the Hungarian girl eagerly escorted her to the parking lot. She returned later dressed in a green two piece, trying to cover the amount of skin she was exposing.

"This looks fun, ve!" Feliciano chirped and pulled on Ludwig's arm. "Let's do it, Ludwig!" The potato head reluctantly put away his food to follow Feliciano to the shores where the teams were lining up.

"Lovi, do you want to try?" Antonio asked the older Vargas.

In response, Lovino snorted. "No, it looks stupid. Let's just watch." He wanted to see where this Michelle and Arthur thing was going. Really, since when were the two of them together?

Antonio was content with that answer though and mused, "I'm going to take a _siesta _then! Wake me up when the _diablo Inglés _is going to lose."

"I won't," Lovino promised nonchalantly. The Italian watched as Elizaveta paired the matches by drawing names out of Lien's sun hat. Gilbert and Émilie were the first to match against Arthur and Michelle. "If you want to see who wins or loses, then wake up you stupid tomato bastard."

The Italian strained his ears to hear the exchange, but his efforts were wasted when Gilbert vociferously boasted, "We're so awesomely going to kick your asses! Right, Émilie?!"

Arthur snorted, holding tightly onto Michelle to prevent her from falling off his shoulders. "Since when have you ever kicked my ass, Gilbert? Honestly, you think after three years of defeat that you would understand!" the blond retorted.

The match began with the girls gingerly trying to push each other off the shoulders before Gilbert roared and took initiative to ram his side into Arthur. The blond nearly toppled over, making Michelle shriek, until he shouted for "Chelly" to hold on. Émilie grasped onto Gilbert's silvery white hair for dear life when the Lion returned the favour by splashing salt water into the albino's red eyes, making the German roar thunderingly, "_Verdammt_, Arthur!" Michelle shyly reached for her cousin and poked her lightly in the stomach, making her squeal and inch away from the islander girl, only to fall off Gilbert's shoulders. A wave washed over them, dragging all four members underwater momentarily, before they all surfaced and laughed manically.

Ivan Braginski, who was building a sand castle with his sisters, chuckled quietly at the sight a few paces away. "Isn't this fun?" he mused.

Meanwhile, Lovino glowered menacingly at the islander girl without even realizing it. Fortunately for the Italian, the Spaniard was fast asleep to confront Arthur about anything. Unfortunately for the Italian, Antonio had pulled him into his chest like a stuffed toy and cuddled with him. The older Vargas struggled out of his hold, wiggling out of the embrace and scooting a good meter away from the older brunet. Even the next showdown hadn't cheered him up any, despite how ridiculous it was.

The match between Ludwig with Feliciano on his shoulders and Jia Long and Emil was next, but there was hardly a match because Feliciano began cowering when Jia Long used all of his strength to support Emil for a moment. The Icelandic boy used that chance to reach for Feliciano, who ended up falling when he pulled away in fear and dragging Ludwig under the salty waters with him. Of course, in the next second, Jia Long collapsed under Emil's weight, but the two of them still won.

Lovino scoffed to himself and reclined on his back, feeling the rays of sun pound against his skin, and closed his eyes. At least the Spaniard was right about one thing: it was a good time for a _siesta_.

* * *

"Hey, guys!" Alfred cried as he pointed to the setting sun. "It's time for the surprise!"

"Surprise?" Matthew repeated in mild confusion. "What surprise?"

"You stupid little git!" Arthur snapped fiercely, glaring at the American twin with flashing green eyes as violent as lightning strikes, and whacking him upside the head. Alfred whimpered like a kicked puppy. Winston peered at Alfred curiously as he rested on Arthur's lap, wondering if the human was actually a fellow dog in disguise, before turning his attention back to the ice cube he was given. By now, a good portion of the food had been devoured, and leftovers were gladly given to Winston despite Arthur's protests of, "He'll get fat, you bloody twits!"

Nevertheless, despite Alfred nearly blowing their cover, Yao brought in a large ice cream cake that he had especially ordered for this occasion almost a week ago from the ice cream parlor nearby. There were sixteen wax candles all lit up as the Chinese young man brought the cake to the plastic table. Everyone parted their lips and began singing, Matthew included, "Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear - " here, Matthew was startled when people began smiling at him, chorusing, while he was uttering the name of the Chinese boy sharing his birthday " - _Matthew_! Happy birthday to you!" They all cheered, clapping, and embraced the Canadian in a group hug. That was when Matthew realized Jia Long was nowhere to be seen.

As soon as the song ended, fireworks shot up to the sky, glowing vibrant colors of red, orange, blue, green, and pink. Matthew's violet eyes fell upon the younger Chinese siblings lighting up a number of - surely illegal - fireworks. Jia Long gave him a rare smile before returning to his stoic expression.

"Come on, birthday boys! Blow out your candles!" Yao called out. Jia Long held onto his sister's hand as they raced back to the pavilion. Matthew was pushed in front of the cake, where he found his name decorating the top of the cake along with Jia Long's. The blond raised his head and nearly asked how, why, when until Yao raised his soda can and everyone else followed suit, leading everyone in saying cheers with "_Gan bei_!" while everyone else spoke in their native tongue and laughed at the cheesiness of it all.

"Make a wish!" several of their guests chirped.

"Hurry up and blow out the candles!" some of their guests bellowed.

"Cake! Cake! Cake!" a good few of their guests chanted.

Jia Long exchanged a glance with Matthew and began counting down with his fingers, starting with three. As soon as he laid down the last finger, the two boys simultaneously extinguished the flames.

"Well, Mattie?" Alfred mused from beside him, wrapping an arm around his brother's shoulders. "How was your birthday?"

Tears dripped from the corner of Matthew's eyes, and he hastily wiped them away, laughing, and replied softly, "It was amazing! Thank you, Al; thanks, everyone."

Everyone began parting to reveal Gilbert and Arthur drinking lemon soda on their beach towel. Jia Long soon joined him after stealing a slice of cake for all three of them. "If you have to thank someone," Alfred told his brother, "you have to thank them. They came up with this idea." Matthew smiled gently at the trio, who returned the feeling in their own unique way. Gilbert cackled and gave him a thumbs-up while Jia Long nodded and Arthur shrugged nonchalantly, though he inched a bit closer to his dog and ruffled Winston's fur affectionately, hiding a shy smile.

Moments later, after finishing off the cake, most of the guests had left. The remaining group - consisting of Gilbert, Francis, Antonio, Ludwig, Feliciano, the Braginski and Wang siblings, Alfred and Matthew, Lovino and Arthur - huddled around the dying embers of the grill, roasting marshmallows and telling ghost stories - much to Alfred's horror - and jokes. In reality, Arthur was sitting off to the side, lazily stroking his sleeping bulldog, and staring into space. Lovino joined him and spoke, "Hey, special privileged bastard."

"Hey, yourself, little ankle-biter," Arthur returned idly.

"You barely spoke to me at all today, and you were the one who invited me, dammit," Lovino remarked bitterly.

"I didn't think you would need any more attention considering how your boyfriend was fawning all over you," Arthur replied with a half-hearted smirk. He yawned. "Anyway, shouldn't you keep Carriedo company? He's glaring quite angrily at me, I believe."

Lovino snorted. "I can talk to who I want."

"You can talk to _whom _you want," Arthur corrected.

"Shut up, smart ass."

"Gladly."

Lovino rolled his eyes. "Aren't you going to go home if you're so tired? What about your cat?" the brunet inquired innocently.

"Elizabeth is being watched by Miss Jane," Arthur informed shortly. "She loves the poor kitten to death, but at least I know that Lizzy wouldn't be ignored or neglected." He blinked. "And Gilbert drove me here. Carpooling is good for the environment. I know you drove your brother here, so aren't you staying because he is?"

Lovino clicked his tongue simply to avoid speaking, knowing that Arthur had a point. Instead, he changed the subject, "So what are you going to do? Just sit here by yourself?"

"Well, you're with me now, aren't you?"

Lovino's face flushed, flustered, as he responded, "Yeah, I guess I am."

"Hey," Arthur nudged him lightly with a devilish smirk on his lips, "watch this." The English boy pulled Lovino along with Winston cradled in his arms, and, together, the two of them joined the others in roasting marshmallows, occasionally contributing to the conversation, which led to them agreeing to another ghost story, and when a moment of silence passed through the group as they thought of a story to recount, he lowered his voice and began singing in a mantra-like chant, "Bring on the fire, bring on the hell. Set everything aflame, so that no trace remains. Bring on the fire, bring on the hell - "

Jia Long snorted softly, but Alfred, on the other hand, cried with tears gathering at the corner of his eyes, "I feel like we're summoning the devil!" The brawny American cowered just like Lovino's younger brother, who hid behind Ludwig in fear of what was to come out of the fire.

"_Sí_," Antonio muttered, "_el diablo Inglés_."

Lovino burst out laughing in amusement, making Arthur smile.

* * *

**A/N:** This is one of the longest chapters written, topped only by the climax of the entire story, because I didn't want to split the beach party into separate chapters, ha.

Also, regarding dealing with stalkers, it's always best to go to the authorities first because, even if it seems useless, policemen are supposed to take stalking cases seriously. It's better to deal with a stalker case than a murder case in my opinion. Don't do what these boys and girls are doing about Michelle's stalker case; it's not a good example.

Yes, Yong-Soo and Alfred were dancing to "Gangnam Style" earlier. I had to make fun of it.

Arthur's tattoo of Lucy is a reference to a line in England's version of "_Marukaite Chikyuu_" in which he sings, "My tattoo really hurts, but it's a hot six string!" To me, Lucy is a pretty legendary guitar, on top of being bloody gorgeous! I figured Arthur would share a similar respect for her, heh. His other tattoos are references to England's pirate days (as well as something else in relations to this story), the creatures that he sees in canonverse, and simply Great Britain's national symbols.

Finally our favorite part - Unofficial Names:

Lili Zwingli - Lichtenstein  
Vladimir Popescu - Romania  
Natalia and Katyusha Braginski - Belarus and Ukraine  
Lien Nguyen - Vietnam  
Nirand - Thailand  
Lin Tou - Macau  
Ricardo Cruz - Cuba

I would also like to thank everyone who favorited and followed this story! I'm really honored, and it makes me feel all fluffy and warm inside!


	8. Chapter 8 - The Queen

**Chapter Eight: The Queen**

Arthur trudged into the flat and placed Winston in his round black dog bed in the living room right beside the sofa. Sometimes the bulldog would forget that he had his own sleeping space and crawl into bed with Arthur, but tonight was not the night. Arthur was tired from having to share the backspace with Francis, Carriedo, _and_ Winston since Ludwig rode in the front with his brother... and he was also covered with sand, so he lumbered into his bathroom after pulling a towel from his closet, stripped off his swim trunks, and tossed his white pullover into the laundry hamper.

The blond then stepped into the shower, letting the warm droplets of water run down his muscles and relax them, before freezing when he heard the door click open. There was the sound of soft, gentle footsteps trying to be silent as well as the sound of clothes dropping onto the floor. Arthur tensed when he heard the metal rings holding the shower curtain onto the metal rod squeal and felt two thin arms slink around his middle in a serpentine manner. He didn't turn. He didn't have to turn. He already knew fully well who was behind him, who was embracing him, and he cursed himself for leaning into her touch.

A woman's soft bosom pressed against his back, and a button nose buried itself into the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply. "You smell like _la mer_, Arthur," she crooned in that sickeningly sweet voice of hers. She sounded tired, exhausted, even though the flight from Paris to Hetalia should only be a few hours - four, perhaps. He supposed that was why she slurred French into her English sentences - something she almost never does. She asked him in that language he had grown to detest, "_Est-ce que tu es allé à la plage aujourd'hui?_"

"_Ouais_," yet he loved it because it brought back fond memories that haunted him like a ghost of the past, and so he responded in her language, "_J'y suis allé avec mes amis_. _C'est l'anniversaire de Jia Long et Matthieu_."

She hummed, her tone a smooth, seductive alto, though he knew that her gentle vibrations were nothing but teases similar to his accented French that he knew turned her on just as well. The woman whispered suavely into his ear, moist breath ghosting the shell of his ear like a phantom's touch, "Did you have fun?"

"I did," he replied shortly. Her arms unwrapped from around his middle, and he heard the sound of his shampoo being poured into her palm. Her hand tugged at him to sit down, so he did and leaned against her, allowing her fingers to massage through his scalp. "Why're ya 'ere?"

"Am I not allowed to be here?" she retorted in a mocking tone, her words chirping like the twitter of a bird. She pressed her soft lips against his temple before washing away the suds. "_C'est mon appartement_, Arthur." Again, she kissed the area behind his ear, teeth tugging lightly on his piercings, before sucking on his nape.

"Stop," he warned her, swallowing a wanton moan, yet still her finger traced the rose pattern on his chest, too familiar with its outline, "wot if I 'ad a lover?"

"_Mais tu n'as pas d'amant_," she responded confidently. A smile brushed against the skin of his neck as she whispered, "If you did have someone, then you would not have used _le passé ou le conditionnel_ Arthur. You would have told me. Besides, who would you have as a lover? That François boy who proposed to you to make you smile after I left for Paris? The 'Chelly' girl who does not even know how to please you? Don't make me laugh." He shuddered as she chuckled lowly. "I know you better than that. I know you better than anyone - even yourself - and I know you still love me." As though to prove her point, her hand wandered lower. _"Moi aussi, Arthur, je t'aime!_" Her voice grew softer, more tender, more lovingly, coaxing him into her touch. "_Je t'adore_,_ Arthur, mon amour, mon doux chéri. Tu es ma vie._"

Arthur turned his head to catch a glimpse of her after all this time, and once he found those deep azure eyes tinged with a sliver of amethyst - so deep, endless like the dark setting sky, and so alluring, so enticing - he was drowning again and lost. Against his better judgement, the young man swallowed her lips in a wild, passionate kiss, taking her face into his hands and pulling her close, all reason vanquishing from his head as he surrendered to lust, desire, and - above all - the chance to be loved. She was happy to respond, throwing her arms around his neck, and moaned with ecstatic delirium.

Her tongue snaked past his lips, and her sweet taste of black cherries and wild strawberries entwined with his. His right hand weaved through her golden brown hair, wet and soaked with the lukewarm water, while his left hand rested on the small of her back, pressing her feverish body closer to his own. Soft. Gentle. Tender. Her hands caressed him adoringly, lovingly, and Arthur yet again surrendered his body, his soul, his heart, his mind, his will, his everything to her. Before long, they were dancing a routine with which Arthur found too familiar filled entirely with pleasing caresses and gentle touches.

* * *

Arthur awoke the next morning to an empty flat and the smell of sex. Burying his nose into his pillow, he could still smell the lingering and faint aroma of Chanel No. 5 mixed with his shampoo and body wash. Without a second thought, Arthur mechanically ripped the sheets off his bed, throwing them to the floor when he remembered he had condoms to discard and boxers to wear, his green eyes dark and dull. Once that was done, the blond resumed his actions, picking up the sheets and dumping them into the washing machine and pouring detergent onto them. He did the same to his pillow cases and his covers, simply needing to get rid of her scent.

Afterwards, he hopped into the shower once again, scrubbing his skin until it was red, before turning the tap and stumbling out of the bathtub. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and smirked bitterly. How pathetic. Turning his back, he found that the white scars the torn Jolly Roger exposed were now reddened with dried blood from her manicured nails once more. His eyes hardened slightly as he realised that, if events were to continue as they are, then these scars would never fade. Arthur sighed to himself and slipped on a fresh pair of boxers before stepping into torn and washed-out blue jeans. He slid on a black Sex Pistols tank and a casual white hooded waistcoat, not bothering to button the front, and looped a silver circle-studded red belt around his waist. The blond brushed his teeth until they bled and then pulled on a pair of socks, kicking on his red Doc Martins.

Arthur collapsed onto the sofa, picking up his phone gingerly, and found one new message from - he sighed - the Marie-Antoinette of his life herself. He unlocked the phone and found his eyes straying to her portrait before opening the message. "I'll return some time later," she told him, "because the business requires my attention. Speaking of education, have you applied to university yet? Do not concern yourself with the expenses, _mon chéri_. Leave it all to me. _Je te souviendrai toujours, mon amour_."

"Just rip me 'opes ter pieces as always an' spoil me ter make i' be'er, why don't yew?" he retorted with pure loathing and resentment to the screen before locking his phone and stashing it in his back-pocket. He covered his burning eyes with a hand and choked out, "Loike bleedin' 'ell that makes everythin' okay! Damn it all!" He suppressed his tears, swallowing his sobs, and willed himself to calm the violent tremors wrecking his body. Once his body stopped trembling, Arthur swiped his keys off the coffee table and swung his legs onto the hardwood floor. He kept his steps silent as he exited the flat and turned around the corridor, heading to the lift.

Just as the doors parted to reveal Miss Jane, the two of them exchanged confused stares before she smiled courteously and handed over Elizabeth's carrier. "She was a darling and a sweetheart all-in-all," the redhead receptionist promised. "I hope you had fun with your friends, Mr. Kirkland."

"Likewise," Arthur responded to Miss Jane with a polite smile, "I hope you and Elizabeth enjoyed yourselves as well."

"It was tons of fun!" the redhead chirped. "Well, I have to head back to work! I'll see you soon, Mr. Kirkland? Are you taking Winston for a walk?"

"After he gets some energy in him, yes," Arthur replied with genteel. "He has yet to wake up though; I'm afraid last night really exhausted him, poor thing."

Miss Jane laughed courteously before waving him goodbye. For the past two - or was it three now? - years, the redhead receptionist never asked why he was living by himself in a flat signed under someone else's name. For that, he was grateful and probably indebted to her. She never asked him or the landlord how the flat was paid and how he could afford to keep two pets alive and well, happy, and healthy. She never looked down upon him for dressing in unrefined clothes unlike those of which she was used to seeing the residents of the building wear, and she and the landlord were his only company in this building since the other residents avoided him altogether.

Arthur returned to the flat, asking Elizabeth how she was doing before chuckling lowly to himself. Could a cat even understand what he was saying? She sure was clever, however; because as soon as he released her into the flat, the Scottish Fold immediately curled into his side, nuzzling him. The two of them remained on the floor - Arthur stroking her fur, Elizabeth purring comfortingly - for ages until Winston woke up, lead in his jaw. Usually, the lazy git was reluctant to walk, but he seemed more compliant now. Perhaps he knew what happened last night? Arthur crinkled his nose at the thought. Was he really so transparent that animals knew what he was thinking?

Arthur patted Elizabeth's head, telling her that they would return soon, as he poured her breakfast into her bowl. Then he left with Winston to fetch their breakfast. They entered the lift, joining a self-important American business man who had shifted to the opposite side of the lift, getting as far away as possible from Arthur, before exiting into the lobby. Arthur bid Miss Jane a polite goodbye and allowed Winston to take him to the café. There, the blond greeted the waitress, Laura, and ordered a cup of Earl Grey with a dash of milk, a side of scones, and a helping of sausage links for Winston.

As Winston eagerly devoured his breakfast meat, Arthur had barely nibbled on his scones, too distracted with his phone. Should he call her? What would he even say? Maybe he would send her a text, but what was the point? It meant that she still had reign over him, the selfish and whimsical queen she was, and was free to do whatever she pleased, whenever she pleased.

"Hey, is this seat taken?"

Arthur raised his head and found a small, brown haired, hazel eyed Italian boy shifting his weight from foot to foot nervously in front of him. Knowing that his company knew very little about his past, Arthur plastered a smile onto his lips - so not to worry him - and gestured to the seat opposite of him. "Go ahead," he said. "It's not like you need my permission to be around me."

"You okay, bastard?" Lovino inquired hesitantly and flushed in embarrassment of having to undertake such a task at his own volition. The blond heard him curse in his mother tongue under his breath and thought Italian a strange language. His friend spoke it fluently without so much of a care if Arthur understood, and the way the syllables had bounced and rolled off Lovino's tongue was enchanting and magical in a way, different than the sensual, sexual French he was used to hearing.

"I'm fine," Arthur lied through his teeth. "What makes you say that?"

Lovino clicked his tongue, making Arthur smile woefully, knowing that he had been seen through, transparent and clear, with obvious disdain and condescension. The Italian had a habit of clicking his tongue whenever he was displeased, and Arthur had been subject to and of the sound several times before. "You're asking me, bastard? Well, you've got an ugly mug," the Italian snapped. "I've never seen such a fake smile in my life, and that's coming from _me_. I'm surrounded by smiling morons like my _fratellino_ and the tomato bastard."

"How is that going, by the way, with Carriedo?"

"Don't try to change the subject, you bastard," Lovino barked resentfully. "Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"No, but it was worth trying," Arthur returned with an attempt to sound light-hearted. He was still exhausted from his mistake last night, and here he was again, about to make another one. He was familiar with Lovino's reactions; they were all too eerily similar to the ones he himself had made two years ago. If he didn't play his cards carefully, then he would fall again, and this time he would end up dragging Lovino with him. Although Lovino rarely talked about his relationship with Carriedo, the Italian often spoke of the Spaniard - though not usually fondly - so Arthur assumed that he was satisfied with his situation. The blond couldn't ruin that by falling for another one; he was already bad enough with this on/off relationship. Someone as twisted as himself needn't involve Lovino in his troubles.

He cared for the Italian, he really did, as he had over time become a close friend. Jia Long was good to have around to kick his ass forward. Francis was good to have around for bickering's sake. Gilbert was good to have around for a punch. However, Lovino... Lovino's presence was comforting. It was different from the other blokes, and it was certainly different from her touch and comfort. Although high-strung and hot-tempered, he could always count on Lovino to be honest and blunt even when the Italian tried otherwise. That was reassuring and relaxing in its own way. He knew Lovino could never lie to him.

The brunet had waved over Laura and ordered an espresso along with a plate of biscotti. His eyes of golden amber and light emerald flashed threateningly at Arthur and his lips parted to ramble on a tangent, but the blond couldn't help but notice how earthly his eyes were, not even listening to him speak. Everything about Lovino was down-to-earth. His tanned skin, his hazel eyes, his chocolate locks. He was real. Concrete. Arthur absent-mindedly reached for his hand and held it in his own. Warm. He could touch him and reach for him. Lovino was there. He was still there. No, he was here - with him - right now. This moment was real. It wouldn't slip away from him.

"H-Hey, b-bastard?" Lovino stammered shyly, face flaring red. Shite, this was dangerous. Arthur slipped his hand out of his grasp, blushing slightly at his actions as he tried to keep the heat at bay. What was he thinking? No, he wasn't thinking at all! "S-Seriously, w-what's wrong?"

Arthur dropped his gaze to the ground for the first time in a long time, studying the concrete path, and muttered, "I just... I'm tired. That's it, really."

Lovino was quiet for a moment. When Laura returned with his espresso and biscotti, he thanked her with his usual charm before taking a sip of his hot coffee, thinking, and addressing Arthur, "Bastard." Arthur didn't respond immediately, only humming to tell Lovino that he had heard him. "Is that offer of yours still open?"

Arthur raised his head and subconsciously cocked it to the side in confusion.

Lovino blushed and spluttered, "Y-You know, the whole 'drop by anytime' deal... From when I delivered pizzas to your place."

"O-Of course," Arthur answered bemusedly. "Why?"

"C-Clear your schedule after four, bastard. I'm coming over," Lovino clarified, the blush coating his cheeks growing heavier. Arthur could feel his chest swell, overwhelming him in a foreign, alien feeling. He wasn't sure if he was bursting with delight or distraught. After the episode last night, Arthur wasn't sure if he was capable of hosting a guest, but at least Lovino would give him until four o'clock to pull his act together.

Nevertheless, the risk-taker aspect of his personality was daring to take the chance. Lovino had never actually visited him before; all they've ever had was the rooftop lunches that solely belonged to them. Maybe this was a chance to develop their friendship. Arthur smiled bitterly to himself. Yes, this was only friendship. He only wanted Lovino's friendship. He didn't want to ruin anything for Lovino, not like with before. Not like two years ago.

"All right," Arthur responded as cheerfully as he could, "I'll see you at four then. Are you working today?"

"Cheh," Lovino huffed, crossing his arms, "of course, I'm working. If I'm not working, I would be stuck at home with my stupid _fratello_ and his stupid potato eating friend playing video games or some shit. He cleans our house, you know?"

The image of Ludwig taking over the Vargas' home with a dust cleaner and latex gloves suddenly popped into Arthur's mind, and the blond burst out laughing in genuine amusement. Lovino's cheeks grew rosy in colour once more, but he seemed more relaxed than before, smiling even. It was a soft, gentle smile, relieved in a sense, and Arthur had to admit - to himself - that it was a lovely sight. The Italian boy was always frowning, so it was always a gift and a pleasant surprise to see him smiling. Honestly, Arthur wanted to see even more smiles from Lovino, but he supposed that was Carriedo's job. Seriously, the only time he was ever envious of that simple-minded git was for something such as this: Lovino's smile.

He was gorgeous.

"And Carriedo?"

"What about him?" Lovino spat out, eyes flashing vehemently, angered that Arthur would even bring up such a dumb question. "I can hang out with _whomever _I want, right? He has no say in _whom _I choose as friends. It's my life, not his, my rights, not his, _sì_?" The Italian openly mocked Arthur's grammatical speech as though to emphasise his points. These were arguments that Arthur had used against him in the first few days after their encounter, and the blond was rather proud that Lovino was stepping out of his shell to approach him. "_Dio mio_, I really don't get you sometimes. When we first met, you were always talking about, 'Why the bloody hell does Carriedo matter when you make decisions?' and now you're talking shit like 'Are you sure that Carriedo won't be bothered?' or what-the-fuck-ever."

Arthur shrugged when, in actuality, he knew the answer. Being around Lovino was dangerous. The blond felt the need to get closer to him and further their friendship, but that would only make him attached, which was the last thing either of them needed, especially when Lovino had a hot-blooded git for a boyfriend. Carriedo would only serve as a catalyst to repeat history. Instead of telling his friend this, however, Arthur responded, "I wouldn't want to make you feel uncomfortable if Carriedo doesn't like this."

"Who gives a fuck if he doesn't like it?" Lovino retorted resentfully. "At the end of the day, we're all fine, right? You're still your tea-drinking, scone-eating bastard self, and I'm still delivering pizzas until high school graduation."

Arthur chortled lowly and nodded, raising his tea cup in agreement with Lovino's coarse statement, before finishing his cooling tea. The blond stood up and unhooked Winston's lead from his seat, giving Lovino a small, polite smile and chirping, "Four o'clock."

Lovino flushed, flustered and embarrassed, before nodding stiffly, mumbling a "Four o'clock" in confirmation.

* * *

"Lovi! Where are you going?" Antonio whined as he pulled the smaller boy into a sweltering embrace. God, the stupid tomato bastard had too much body heat to spare! He had just gotten off work, too, and being in a kitchen with too many ovens to count really heightened his desire simply to relax after work. Antonio was really pushing it this time. The Italian was irritated, and after the stunt he pulled when they were getting home from the beach last night, the younger boy knew something was up with the Spaniard. Lovino pushed the taller brunet away from his body, using the chance to widen the distance between them. "Lovi! Don't be embarrassed!"

"Chigi!" Lovino shrilled indignantly. "You're acting weird, bastard! _Fanculo_!" The Italian stomped to his moped and started the engine, plopping the helmet over his head, before giving Antonio one last glare. "Just give me an hour to myself, bastard! I really want to be without people right now!"

He knew he sounded like a hypocrite; Lovino was going to see Arthur. In his defense, though, Arthur wasn't really like a person. The blond bastard was too fucking otherworldly to be a person. He was something untouchable, incomprehensible, unreal - especially with those strange green eyes of his! Even his brother the fucking naturally talented and gifted artist couldn't place a finger on the color of his green eyes! Kick-starting the engine, Lovino took to the streets, leaving behind a disheartened Antonio at not even fifty kilometers per hour.

"Oh, Lovino!"

The brunet lifted his head to find the redhead receptionist greeting him in the lobby. He gave her a polite smile and responded similarly, "_Buongiorno_, _Signorina _Jane. How are you today?"

"I'm doing fine! I see you're not working right now," Jane chirped. Her expression softened to that of a motherly visage as she asked Lovino, "Are you visiting Arthur today?" Her question and tone surprised him some, but he nodded nevertheless. She smiled sagely and hummed contently. "That's good. This morning, when I saw him, it looked like someone trampled all over him. He was a pale as a ghost, so I think he could use a little company. He stays in that apartment all by himself, you know?" Shaking her head to prevent herself from saying anymore, she gestured towards the elevator. "Be my guest," she chimed, "make his day."

Lovino reddened some as he retreated into the elevator, pressing for the twelfth floor. Some stuffy businessman entered the elevator with him, casting him a single glance before turning his attention to the Swiss watch on his wrist. Lovino stifled the urge to snort at the obnoxious bastard before the man got off the elevator at the third floor. In the meanwhile, Lovino rode all the way to the penthouse. The Italian stepped onto the twelfth floor once the elevator doors parted and turned down the corridor, his feet leading him automatically to Apartment 1250. Nervously, the brunet knocked on the door, missing a beat, and as he stilled, he could hear a pair of feet scrambling to the door, cursing the pets stumbling over his feet and trying to hold Winston from the door. "Blimey!" Arthur shouted from within the apartment. Lovino cracked a smile.

The door opened by a sliver, and from it Lovino could see a single emerald peek curiously into the corridor. Arthur smiled sheepishly then. "G'afternoon," he greeted. He made a motion as though he was kicking something to the side before opening the door wider. "Sorry about the wait!" Arthur apologized half-heartedly, shooing his pets inside. "It was bloody hot, so the gits are trying to get out of the apartment because I think the AC is under repairs even though all the windows are open. It's actually even hotter outside, dear God. I'm trying my best to keep Winston cool since it's bad for him to be exposed to excessive heat until seven. Miss Jane said something about mechanics at seven, so I'm hoping that something regards the AC. Anyway, I ended up buying about two buckets of ice cream in the meanwhile to stay cool. Sorry about that."

"_Cavolo, _you talk a lot. Still, it feels nicer than it did in a kitchen with - what? - five, six ovens," Lovino retorted as he followed Arthur into the apartment. The Englishman closed the door behind him, and the first thing Lovino noticed was that it smelled even more sterile than usual. "Did you do some cleaning? Winston piss all over the furniture? I don't want to sit down if he did."

Arthur laughed, amused, as Lovino curiously peered into the main room. True to what Arthur had said earlier, there was a half-eaten container of mint chocolate chip ice cream on the coffee table. The TV was playing _Pirates of the Caribbean _- which one, Lovino wasn't sure, but it involved a giant wheel where three, he supposed they were, pirates were sword-fighting - and Winston was lying in a dog bed near the edge of the sofa while Elizabeth was curled on top of a couch pillow.

"No, Winston is potty-trained, and so is Elizabeth. I just... had a mess to clean up," Arthur responded hesitantly after a moment. Sensing that the topic was left untouched until the bastard felt like talking about it, Lovino sat down on the sanitary sofa. The blond joined him once he realized that the Italian wouldn't broach, much to his relief, the topic and asked, "So how was work?"

"Fucking awful," Lovino remarked dryly. "I don't know why I chose to work in a kitchen with more than one oven and stove when it's fucking summer. It was too hot, and then I had to deal with people, too, dammit. It really tests my fucking patience."

"Wow, sounds fucking awful, all right," Arthur responded shortly, rolling his eyes. He mentioned, "At least you get paid for your troubles."

"Maybe I should ask for a raise."

"Don't push your luck."

"I won't, bastard."

They smiled, not really paying attention to the film, and exchanged a few bantering words about the characters. After a while, Arthur noticed that his ice cream was melting and ended up churning the rest of the ice cream, wondering if it was still edible or too warm to be ice cream any more. He still ate it.

"You want some, git?"

"Fuck no. I hate mint ice cream. Especially when it's melted."

"Suit yourself."

After a moment of silence, Lovino reached over, stole Arthur's spoon, and swallowed a bit of mint ice cream, blushing and spitting out, "Only because you offered, bastard." The Italian clicked his tongue the moment he caught sight of Arthur's smirk and remarked, "By the way, I plan on cooking dinner."

"That's wonderful," Arthur replied coolly, scooping another spoonful of melting ice cream and devouring it slowly, lingering on the silverware. His pink tongue flitted against it momentarily, making his company blush, flustered, and Lovino caught sight of a silver stud in the appendage. "What are you making? That pasta you've made with Feliciano for the party was _divine_, by the way. Are the two of you cooking together again?" Arthur was kind of jealous; he wished he and his brothers were close like that. Maybe they wouldn't _cook_ together, but they would surely do something... _sportive_, to say the least.

"Chigi!" Lovino squealed, undignified, scowling deeply. "_Ma, che sei grullo_?! I'm cooking here _with you_ in _your_ kitchen! It gives me the creeps to see how clean and unused it is! Do you even have bowls and plates?"

"They're somewhere in the cupboards," Arthur recalled faintly, scratching the top of his head with a finger as he forced himself to remember. When was the last time he ate here with actual utensils anyway? "Might I ask why you want to cook here?" The last time someone used the kitchen was... maybe a few months ago when his patroness had visited. She had stayed longer that time to confirm that her mark was still engraved on his person and in his heart and soul.

"I-It's not for you or anything, bastard!" Lovino snapped, spluttering with nervousness, cheeks pleasantly red. "I just can't stand looking at your kitchen! It's pitiful the way it is!"

Well, you can't really call it _my_ kitchen, Arthur mused bitterly. He wasn't even allowed to step inside it unless it was to store food or to feed his pets. At least Lovino wasn't banned from the kitchen, so the Italian could do whatever he liked without offending that woman. There were always loopholes to rules, after all, and _hers_ especially were paradoxical.

"All right," Arthur conceded. He snatched his keys from the table in front of them and trudged to the kitchen to store his carton of ice cream in the freezer. He gave Lovino a teasing smirk and stated, "We ought to fetch the groceries then since you came empty-handed despite wanting to cook. I think there might be spices in the cabinets if you want to have a look first."

Lovino gave him a sceptical glance, and Arthur didn't blame him. Since Arthur didn't cook, why would he have spices? Nevertheless, the brunet took his word for what it's worth and peered curiously into the cabinets, finding shelves and shelves of spices. The Italian was tempted to ask Arthur why he had so many spices that the Briton probably did not even know how to use but thought against it. The bastard had his secrets; Lovino knew that much. He had yet to learn why Arthur lived here alone, so he decided to ask another day, maybe. Lovino had a feeling that Arthur would never speak about this apartment though if it was connected to his family or his past. Of the three topics, none of them had been broached by the blond. There was a reason unknown to Lovino that would have to wait until, perhaps, the end of eternity.

"Satisfied?" Arthur retorted.

"Cheh," Lovino huffed and glared resentfully at the blond, "whatever. It's good enough. Let's go, bastard."

After leaving the flat to Winston and Elizabeth, the two boys locked up and entered the lift, pressing the button down to the lobby. There, they gave their greetings to Miss Jane and headed into town, wandering down Mediterranean Lane where the open markets Lovino favoured were. Arthur watched, entranced, as Lovino haggled for fresh ingredients, beating down prices and calling the stall owners on their bullshit. They ended up walking home with bags of tomatoes, grains, wheat, olive oil, and some other produce Arthur couldn't seem to name. When they returned to the flat, the Italian banished him to the sofa upon discovering that the blond didn't know the differences between slicing, dicing, and mincing and parsley and cilantro. The older student instead chose to sit at the counter, observing Lovino with heavy interest, as the brunet began stirring some kind of tomato sauce in a strange pan that Arthur didn't even know he had in the flat. Lovino then began preparing some sort of dough, forming them into noodles.

"Isn't this a lengthy process?" Arthur inquired of the cooking Italian. He crossed his arms and rested his chin on top of his limbs, still training his eyes on the brunet. Fascinating, was he boiling the noodles now? "Isn't there already pre-made items? Why don't you use them instead?"

"And expose you to excessive salt and sodium and shit? Forget it," Lovino grumbled. Arthur smiled though. He knew the brunet was cooking for him, and now he's heard the words from directly from his lips. He was content with just that. Really.

* * *

**A/N:** I wonder if I gave you guys enough clues to guess the character in the first scene... I think I gave too much, personally.

Yes, Arthur's love life is a mess, and that won't be the last you'll see of that woman either. She's important. Super important. Lovino's got Hell coming.


	9. Chapter 9 - Theme Parks

**Chapter Nine: Theme Parks**

Michelle Bonnefoy had moved from the island of Seychelles to the island of Hetalia to be closer to her cousins, Francis and Émilie, and she loved it. She loved everything about it - the trees, the streets, the cafés, the pâtisseries, the bakeries, the deli shops, the people - okay, maybe not so much Brows because he's a rather handsome jerk - absolutely _everything_... Aside from the stalker.

Her honey brown eyes glanced behind her again, finding that dark shadow once more, and she immediately quickened her pace and dove into a crowd of people. Where the hell did that Eyebrows live again? It was a high-rise penthouse suite with state of the art security, she recalled that much. Glancing about her surroundings, Michelle faintly remembered meeting him for the first time ever by the ice cream parlour around the corner during summer last year when she was working; back then, he had wanted some mint chocolate chip ice cream but had barely paid any attention to her, too focused on some message on his phone, wearing a forlorn expression on his face. They were later introduced to each other by her cousins at the corner, and then there was that one time at the park over there where he performed magic tricks for a bunch of little kids and gave them all candy. She remembered that he lived near that very park because once she had to drop by his flat to deliver some duct tape that Francis had forgotten for their science project. Oh, it was just beyond the corner!

Michelle raced past the intersection of Rue Calais and Dover Street, and finally a large apartment complex came into view. A relieved smile broke onto her lips as Michelle scrambled into the building. The redhead receptionist - _Mademoiselle _Jane - blinked twice in confusion before smiling widely at Michelle. "_Bonjour_, _Mademoiselle Michelle_!" she chirped in half-decent French. "_Comment allez-vous_?"

"_Je veux voir Arthur, Monsieur Arthur Kirkland_!" Michelle blurted out in disarray, caring not what language in which they spoke so long as _Mademoiselle _Jane understood. She subconsciously smashed her palms against the edge of the counter, gripping it tightly, as tears nearly blinded her eyes. "_C'est une urgence_!"

It would have taken Jane a longer time to translate and register what _Mademoiselle _Michelle was saying, but she recognized the tone of voice and nodded her head, catching only one name. The redhead receptionist dialed for Mr. Kirkland, and when she raised her head, Jane spotted a shadow hiding behind the trimmed trees they had out front. When the familiar voice of a familiar Briton answered his intercom phone ("Hello, Kirkland speaking"), Jane did not hesitate in responding, "Miss Michelle Bonnefoy is here to see you, Mr. Kirkland. It is an emergency. I'm sending her up." The redhead nodded to the islander girl, urging her with a gentle smile, to give her the okay to pass. The response on the other end was mildly puzzled but grave nonetheless. Jane hung up the phone and prepared to call security should the shadow remain where it should not.

The constant knocking at the front door was rapid-fire and offbeat, nervous and anxious, so when he opened the front door, Arthur was not quite sure what to expect. He was taken completely off-guard when Chelly threw herself into his arms, shield completely broken, and cried softly. The blond instinctively wrapped his arms around her and awkwardly comforted her since Chelly was like a sister to him as much as she was to Francis. Arthur immediately closed and locked the door behind them.

The Briton guided her to the sofa in a gentlemanly manner, and Elizabeth, having faintly recognized Chelly, leapt onto her lap. The islander girl tensed at the sudden contact at first but gradually relaxed to the new-found company. Her hand tentatively stroked at the red-orange and white fur. "Do you want to talk about it?" Arthur asked her gingerly, careful to back off if she did not want to open to him. It was no secret that Chelly didn't exactly like him and vice-versa; after all, the fact that they had a quarrelsome relationship was quite well known to the public. When the girl nodded, Arthur occupied the seat beside her and inquired cautiously, "When did this all begin?"

She shook her head. "I don't know," she confessed. "I was working and met him there. I don't even know his name. I don't know when he started stalking me. I only noticed when summer vacation started. After my birthday party, someone pointed it out, and suddenly he was following me everywhere and I couldn't go home - didn't know where to go - so I came here because there's security and a lot of people and _Mademoiselle_ Jane knows me and knows you and I... I was scared, Brows."

He brought her into his chest, stroking her hair gently. "I know you are," the blond whispered softly, "and I'll figure out a way to make it better. For now, you have to relax and trust me." Michelle nodded stiffly. Pursing his lips, Arthur dared to venture further, "Alfred's birthday is tomorrow. He wants to go to Hetaland and invited his close friends." Arthur recalled the younger - yet freakishly taller - blond inviting him, Jia Long, Kiku, and the Bad Friends - along with his own brother, of course. "Do you want to go with me? Francis is coming as well, so you won't have to be alone with me. It won't be a date if you're worried about that."

Originally, he had thought for a fraction of a second about inviting Lovino, but he knew that Carriedo would already do that since they were dating. The only thing about which he would have to worry is if Lovino would accept, considering his busy schedule and considering how the Italian boy often treated the one whom he called a boyfriend. Had Arthur asked the brunet himself, the Briton wouldn't have to worry about his friend declining. The two of them were rather close, after all, but he questioned how much Carriedo truly knew Lovino - from skin to bone or whatnot. Nevertheless, the blond told himself, mostly to reaffirm his decision and convince himself with finality, Chelly could use a break from this stalker business.

Relief washed over him when Michelle nodded. "I would like that," she replied quietly. If only she answered in her usual enthusiasm, Arthur would be less concerned. He missed the girl who cheered wildly during the Royal Wedding in front of the telly, beating his and the boys' excitement when it came to football. (Ha! And here Arthur had thought nobody could outdo his enthusiasm when it bled through his skin and to the surface.) She was too paranoid now, and he hated it. Where was that delightful, carefree attitude of hers? What had that stalker done to it? This was not his Chelly.

"Will you be leaving with Francis on the fourth then?" he asked her. "I'll meet you at your estate if that's the case."

"Yeah," she replied quietly, "just let me call Francis and Émilie first. Do you mind if I stay here? I don't know if _mon cousin _left already..."

"Stay as long as you'd like," Arthur assured her. "I'll call Miss Jane at the front desk and see about security. Are you hungry? I'm craving some curry right now - unless you want something else."

"Indian is fine," Chelly replied, pulling out her phone and scrolling through her contacts for Émilie's number. "_Allô? Émilie? C'est moi, Michelle. Je suis à l'appartement d'Arthur à cause d'harceleur... Nous allons manger la nourriture indienne... Oui, merci. À tout à l'heure._"

At the same time, the blond had dialled for the front desk using the intercommunication system placed near the front door, and Miss Jane firmly told him that she had called security to handle the stalker out front. "What's the plan?" Arthur inquired of the islander girl as soon as she hung up. He nearly dialled for Raj's, an Indian restaurant that the Briton often frequented, on his phone but decided to put it off until he confirmed that Chelly would eat with him. He didn't want to end up ordering too much.

"I'll stay here for a little longer, and Émilie and Francis will call me and pick me up after we eat," Chelly told the blond. She buried her head into her hands. "How did this happen to me?"

"Nobody asked for this," Arthur told her. "Shite happens in life, but it's how we deal with it that matters."

Chelly gave him a sarcastic smile. "Usually, you're the one who causes shit to happen," she remarked playfully in a joking manner, oblivious to how true her words resonated in the Briton's mind. "Are we eating from Raj's? I like their chicken curry; it's not too spicy though. I end up putting more hot sauce in it."

"Yes, it is quite delicious," Arthur agreed wholeheartedly, ignoring her earlier comment, "though I find it moderately spiced as it is," and keying one of the numbers he had memorised by now. "I hear Patel works there as a waiter or the like for the summer."

"Everyone works somewhere," Chelly commented half-heartedly before recalling, "except you. What _do _you do? You can't just stay in here all day for all of summer, can you?"

"I take Winston for walks and go to parties and head to the venues in the city centre to catch one of the local bands playing," Arthur answered shortly, waiting for someone to pick up the other end, "is that not enough?"

"No," she answered shortly, giving him a suspicious eye, and for a moment he was slightly irritated and partially relieved. At least she was beginning to act normally now even if that meant that Chelly was rather annoying as she is. "Really, Brows, you keep to yourself too much. You're going to end up with fifty cats if this keeps up. You were somewhat better when you rode around town on your motorcycle, screaming for vengeance, singing to some old songs from the fifties, sixties, seventies or eighties, and hitting people with your bass guitar."

Arthur scoffed and was about to make a sarcastic remark about how that was two years ago when he hadn't a care in the world until someone from Raj's finally picked up the phone, "Hello, this is Raj's. How may I help you?"

"Err, right, hello," Arthur answered awkwardly, still recovering from Chelly's low blow, and ordering two chicken curry dishes. Upon hearing Chelly giggling victoriously, he shot her a glare. He hung up the call after hearing his total and crossed his arms. "Now what was that all about? _Fifty _cats? Am I going to be running a shelter?"

Chelly snorted in a rather unfeminine matter and remarked, "Sure, if that makes you feel better. You'll end up running a shelter if you keep embroidering doilies in your free time like an old lady," and Arthur wasn't sure if he should take offence to that. Still, it was good that she was, at the very least, smiling and laughing now. "How about it, Brows? Are you still up to riding motorcycles?" she retorted.

"Well, if you'll let me fetch my bass and spend your time memorising 'Helter Skelter,'" Arthur responded sardonically, "we can go."

"Seriously?"

Arthur gave her a bland look before sighing and caving into her request. Right, how could he tell her to behave normally when he wasn't himself any more? The blond could barely recall the days when he spent all day and night playing music with random bands, inviting himself on stage and improvising, in a jam session. If he made an effort, then surely Chelly would as well.

"Seriously," he confirmed with a brotherly smile. "Call the Frog and tell him that I'll drop you off later."

* * *

"What do you want, you tomato bastard?" Lovino spat as he wiped a table surface clean in wide, circular motions. The Italian watched wearily as his boyfriend pulled up a chair and sat down, giving the younger brunet a wide smile. "Watch it," Lovino warned as he manually lifted Antonio's arm and wiped the part of the table that was now smudged with his perspiration, "I just cleaned that."

"Alfredo's birthday is approaching," Antonio commented.

"Another birthday?" Lovino groaned. Since when was he associated with so many people? He didn't mind parties for the free food and drinks (on his behalf), but if he was going to be with his brother, people were bound to be comparing them day and night. He didn't need any more of that in his life, thank you very much. At the last party for Jia Long and Matthew only a few days ago, Lovino was spared from such treatment because he personally avoided acting out of hand... Mostly to watch Arthur because the bastard was beginning to confuse him to no end, but like hell he'd admit that.

"_Sí_," Antonio chirped. "It's a more private party sort of thing though. Alfredo wanted to go to a theme park, so he invited me, Francisco, Gil, his Asian amigos, and _el diablo Inglés_. I wanted to know if you wanted to come with me."

"The obnoxious hamburger bastard didn't invite me, so why not just go with your friends?" Lovino inquired curiously.

"By inviting me, he indirectly invited you," Antonio reasoned persistently. "We are a package deal, Lovi, no? Are you coming?"

"I guess, bastard. What time?" Lovino responded in his usual surly tone of voice. "If it's the fourth, they gave me the day off because we have a shitload of part-timers working then."

"Then I'll pick you up at eight since Hetaland opens at ten! We want to get there bright and early!"

That caught Lovino off-guard. "_Eight_?" he shrieked. Damn, that was too early, and it was summer! The earliest he got up was at ten for work! Waking up at eight was impossible! Well, Lovino forced himself to calm, if that specially privileged bastard would be there, then maybe it was okay. Inhaling and exhaling about ten times, Lovino nodded his head. "Eight," he reaffirmed, "I can do eight."

Antonio beamed, genuinely pleased that his boyfriend hadn't declined his offer. Lovino had been somewhat distant since summer began, and part of that was due to his job at the pizzeria, wanting to impress his grandfather with responsibilities and all. However, the Spaniard had a sneaking suspicion that the stupid English devil had some part to play in Lovino's estranged behavior as well. The younger brunet had noticeably taken an interest in the delinquent masquerading as a disciplinary officer, and he had done very little to hide his intrigue as he usually would. It was uncharacteristic of him to be as honest as he was when matters involved Kirkland, and Antonio wasn't sure that he should be elated Lovino was more in touch with his feelings or otherwise.

"Okay!" the Spaniard chimed. "And can I get a cheese pizza with extra tomato sauce?"

"Chigi!" Lovino hissed under his breath so that his boss wouldn't get onto him for snapping at a customer even if said customer was his boyfriend. "Am I a waiter right now, bastard? No!" Nevertheless, Lovino marched to the counter, scribbled something onto a notepad, and clipped it to the wire of orders to be fulfilled. Antonio smiled. He was familiar with this dishonest little Lovi.

Because no matter how much he denied his excitement, the next morning, when Antonio saw how bright and early his little Lovi was, dressed in typical Italian fashion, the Spaniard knew that Lovino was genuinely ecstatic to join them at the theme park. Despite it being summer, Lovino was wearing white denim jeans stuffed into his favorite dark leather Armani boots with a black blazer made of light, thin fabric, undone over light blue button shirt with the first few buttons unfastened, his usual leather belt, and a silver watch around his left wrist. Since backpacks were obviously not fashionable handbags of any kind and a "tourist" thing, Lovino was only carrying the men's satchel he had shown Antonio after his first paycheck that was made of Italian leather with the strap running across his body. Antonio hoped that little eleven-inch bag had everything his boyfriend needed.

"I always feel a little under-dressed when I'm around you, Lovi," Antonio joked lightheartedly as he looped an arm around his lover's waist. Lovino squirmed a bit, but he didn't make a move to push him away. Antonio considered this as Lovino's silent approval. True to his statement, Antonio was only wearing a baggy white t-shirt reading "Shut Up" in - what Lovino thought was - shit handwriting, blue jeans, Adidas football cleats, and a thin red summer cardigan left unbuttoned. The Spaniard only had to carry his phone, keys, and wallet in his pockets. If he needed anything, he would have to buy it, and that was okay because money can be replenished - maybe not easily, but still. After all, they were only going to a theme park; it wasn't like they were going to a fashion show... But even if they were, Antonio doubted that he would make an effort to dress up anyway - not that the Spaniard would ever go to a fashion show.

"At least you don't look like an American tourist," Lovino grumbled.

Antonio laughed at this comment, and he laughed even harder when they rendezvoused at Alfred and Matthew's house. There, Lovino caught a glimpse of a true American tourist, and he wanted nothing more than a glimpse either. Alfred was dressed in khaki shorts, an "I [heart] N.Y." t-shirt, with an ugly brown sports jacket and sneakers, finishing off his appearance with a big, fat Jansport backpack. His Canadian brother was slightly better off with his jeans, white hoodie made of thin fabric with double red stripes running down the side and a maple leaf on the back, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and durable hiking boots. Doubtless, Lovino thought, that he had some of his crap in the backpack his younger twin brother was carrying.

Kiku and Jia Long had already arrived ahead of the Mediterranean pair. The former was wearing a button shirt with a summer cardigan as well, and, like the majority of the others, Kiku wore jeans with a pair of comfortable athletic shoes that were rather on the plain side. The latter donned a low-cut white long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and a fashionable scarf tossed casually over his shoulders. Jia Long also finished off his image with deep mahogany jeans with black ankle boots. Neither of the Asians appeared to be carrying much.

"Hey, Vargas!" Alfred greeted in that obnoxiously loud manner of his. "What's with the purse?!"

"It's a Gucci satchel, dumbass!" Lovino snapped indignantly. Did it look like a fucking _purse_?! Hell no! Purses were _feminine_, and Lovino's Gucci satchel was manly, alright?! At any rate, Lovino forced himself to calm down; he would probably have to spend all day with the fucker - might as well get used to him now. As soon as the two lovers approached the other four, Lovino crossed his arms and asked, "Who are we waiting for?" The Italian already knew though, and his hazel eyes kept flitting to the side, waiting for Arthur to appear at any moment.

"We're carpooling with Gil," Alfred informed, "who went to pick up Artie and Franny."

"Doesn't he have that fucking army car, dammit? How are we going to fit in that?" Lovino retorted.

"Nah, he borrowed his uncle's van," Alfred explained shortly. "He said that it's got like eight seats because Ol' Fritz has like five kids or something, so we're cool." The American boy narrowed his eyes, squinting, and boomed, "I think that's it around the corner! Hey, Gilbert!" With that, the tall blond began flailing his arms to catch the albino bastard's attention. Lovino blushed out of shame for being associated with the stupid American tourist and covered his face, making Antonio chuckle beside him. "Gilbert!"

"_Zitto, stupido_!" Lovino shrilled, punching Alfred in the arm, but the American barely flinched. Instead, he laughed obnoxiously like the tall little bastard he was. Without heeding Lovino's cries, Alfred continued flailing his arms, purposely exaggerating his movements now.

At long last, the metallic silver van pulled to the side walk, parking illegally for a moment (Lovino was sure but didn't really care since he's done worse), and the passenger window rolled down to reveal two smirking bastards. "Ready, _meine _awesome _Freunde_?" Gilbert inquired from the wheel. The albino was dressed in an army green military jacket over a loose black tank top with the logo of some band Lovino didn't recognize with stone washed jeans and combat boots, and the perverted Frenchman was dressed in a white loose button shirt with a floral design underneath a casual light blue blazer that had a single button done, a pair of light gray jeans, and white polished shoes.

"Where's Artie?" Alfred inquired as he opened the door into the car. It smelt like french fries and pine-scented air freshener. The American slid all the way to the other side of the car, and Matthew hopped into the middle seat in the center row. Jia Long crawled into the far back corner after lowering the last seat in the middle row, and Lovino and Antonio had little choice but to join him while Kiku had the remaining seat. "Is he not coming?"

Lovino felt his heart plummet to his stomach in disappointment. Like hell he wanted to see that bastard's face; he only wanted... Dammit. Whatever. Not like it matters.

"He's meeting us there," Francis explained with a strange sparkle in his eyes. It was a perverse leer, but there was something about it that was different from his usual goofy "romantic" expression. It was more subdued. "He has a date, and it would have been too crowded if they came with us."

A date? Lovino seethed. A date? Bastard! Since when did he have a girlfriend?! The Italian paused in the middle of his thoughts, recalling the beach scenes between the lion bastard and Michelle Bonnefoy. Oh, he thought. It made sense now. The two of them had some weird unresolved sexual tension, he guessed, considering how they acted at the beach. Plus, she was kind of sexy, curves and all, probably completely Arthur's type.

"Woo!" Alfred cheered. "Way to go, Artie! Who's the girl?"

"You'll see," Francis chirped shortly.

The ride to the theme park was noisy and nauseating simultaneously, and with each passing minute, Lovino cursed Arthur more and more for having successfully avoided this car wreck to Hell. Alfred was busy trying to, noisily, beat Matthew, Jia Long, and Kiku in the middle row at Mario Kart or Tetris or some dumb shit on his Nintendo. Gilbert was singing along - off-beat and off-key - to some hard rock crap on the radio. Francis was on the phone, sweet talking to some woman in French against the noise, and Antonio couldn't keep his hands to himself. At least neither Jia Long nor Matthew nor Kiku spoke much in comparison to the other bastards, but they didn't do much to calm the others either. Fair enough, Lovino supposed, since he didn't try much to keep the other bastards quiet either.

The volume escalated dramatically - sky-rocketing to the level of shattering eardrums - when they arrived and tried to find an available parking space without having to walk too far. When it was obvious that most of the spaces up front were occupied, Alfred advocated that they should scour the parking lot like a hawk until someone left while Kiku reasoned that it would be faster to park in the back and walk to the front entrance. Gilbert roared with irritation and ended up parking crookedly at the next spot he saw, earning the scorn of Francis when he could barely open his door without scratching the neighboring car. Of course, all of his condescension was soon revoked after the albino began punching relentlessly at the Frenchman for being such a prick.

The party of eight strolled to the front entrance, picking up the pace when Alfred was noticeably miles away from the others, and soon found a gathering crowd in front of the gates. "What time is it?" Lovino muttered curiously. Recalling that he was wearing a watch, he peeked at the tiny black hands signaling that it was twenty minutes until ten o'clock.

"Heeeyy!" Alfred exclaimed, "It's Artie and Michelle!" The obnoxious bastard subsequently jogged to rendezvoused with his friends. As Lovino expected, Arthur was standing with the tanned islander girl, Michelle, who was dressed impeccably in a sleeveless white one-piece dress with a laced floral design on the skirt, strappy woven wedges, and a red cross-body purse, which complimented the red ribbons in her dark hair. The one thing Lovino noticed above all was the fact that she was wearing a dark leather motorcycle jacket that was not hers. The shoulders were far too broad, and the sleeves were far too long. Still, Michelle was a sweet contrast in comparison to Arthur, of whom Lovino reluctantly stole glances. The blond in question was wearing a Union Jack t-shirt with a sort of red checked scarf tied at the back of his neck and _completely _ripped and shredded jeans tucked into motorcycle boots. A multitude of belts of different sizes and studs overlapped and layered around his waist and hips, decorated with chains with various size and thickness, and a pair of black leather gloves topped off his attire. Nevertheless, Alfred was indifferent to Arthur and Michelle's complementary appearance and exclaimed, "How are you guys doing?!"

"Happy birthday, git," Arthur greeted the American with a curt nod.

"Hey, be nice," Michelle scolded.

"I _am _being nice," Arthur retorted. The blond had yet turned to Lovino's direction... Not that Lovino wanted Arthur to look at him and be impressed by his high-end Italian fashion sense or anything. The bastard could do whatever he wanted, not that Lovino cared or anything. "If you wankers get in line now, you should receive your tickets just when the gates open."

"What about you guys?" Alfred inquired curiously.

Sharing similar smirks, Arthur and Michelle lifted their hands to display, proudly, their tickets. "We stood in line behind a single mother with four kids and in front of a party of _twenty_," the older blond remarked dryly, "to get two tickets. It's like we went through bloody Hell and back again."

Michelle pointed over to a palm tree and chirped, "We're going to wait for you guys over there, _d'accord_?" Without waiting to hear their answer, the islander girl tugged on Arthur's hand and pulled him along to sit on top of the circular concrete slab in which the tree was planted within a mound of woodchucks and dry as fuck soil. Lovino's gaze lingered on Arthur's smiling face - the bastard seemed more relieved than anything though for what reason, Lovino knew naught - before he was pulled along by Antonio to join the others in line.

* * *

"Alright, we have the tickets!" Alfred cheered, holding up the thin slips of paper that Gilbert was trying to snatch and protect from the American boy.

"Give me that! You're going to lose them, and we're going to have to stand through line again and pay sixty-four euros for each ticket again, and Lutz will lecture me for wasting one hundred twenty-eight euros _twice,_ and it'll just be _not _awesome!" Gilbert snapped as he reached for the tickets and shoved one of them into his back-pocket. He handed one to Francis, one to Antonio, one to Lovino, one to Kiku, one to Jia Long, and one to Matthew before giving Alfred a weary eye. When the American boy whistled innocently, Gilbert caved into his demands and handed over the ticket, wishing him a happy birthday and warning him not to expect a Christmas present. It seemed that the albino had purchased Alfred's ticket.

Jia Long took a seat beside Arthur, whose leather jacket had been returned, and said, "You're wearing leather? On an island? In the summer? It's not, like, thin fabric, you know."

"Shut it," Arthur snapped. "I was riding my bike, and you have to wear some kind of protection against road rash. Additionally, I brought my jacket in case a certain _someone_ - " he glanced at Michelle, who turned away innocently with subtle red on her cheeks " - decided to wear something indecent on a motorcycle, for God's sake."

She huffed and mumbled something similar to, "Thanks for sitting on my dress, Brows..."

Lovino turned his head away from the scene. He didn't want to see _that_, dammit.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you everyone who followed this story or made it a favorite! And thank you those who took the time to review! It's highly appreciated! Being a novice to this website, I don't really know how to reply to all of them (or to them at all)... I tried my best... I think.


	10. Chapter 10 - Double Dates

**Chapter Ten: Double Date**

Lovino wasn't quite sure what to think when he and Antonio were separated from the main group. Of course, because Arthur and Michelle had disappeared to try some of the park's fish and chips earlier, the two of them had only found Antonio and Lovino when they returned to the spot where they had abandoned the others. The two couples stood awkwardly in the middle of the park, trying to get in contact with the other members of their party. None of their calls connected, however, and Arthur commented dryly that, "They must be having fun without us. Well, two can play at that game!"

That was solid reasoning for the other two - not including Lovino - to form their own party. The three idiots seemed to be having a blast with Antonio and Arthur dragging everyone onto thrill rides and roller-coasters to see who was man enough between the two of them, but Lovino was starting to feel rather queasy. He hated adrenaline pumping rides because, damn it all, humans were supposed to be _planted on the ground_ or else God would have gave them all wings or fins or some shit, and the Italian began questioning why he had even agreed to come to the fucking theme park again.

Oh, right.

Lovino glanced at Arthur, who was playing some shooting game at a booth loaded with gigantic stuffed animals. The party of four decided to refrain from going on any more thrill rides and roller-coasters - Arthur's suggestion - in favor of arcade games. Arthur and Antonio had faced off game after game - Dance Dance Revolution, Guitar Hero, Skee Ball, zombie or alien first-person shooters - and after tying in the building with almost every game there was, the two rivals decided to expand their scope to the booths outside instead.

"Chigi!" Lovino squealed, feeling something drop onto his head. He jerked his head and found Arthur smirking deviously at him. "_Che cazzo_? What was that for, bastard?!" He subconsciously moved his hand over his heart, feeling it pound violently, and tried to calm himself. The Briton then delicately placed a stuffed toy into Lovino's hands. The Italian stared bemusedly at the white toy dog in his hands and wondered, briefly, what it was doing there. "Hey, bastard, what am I holding?"

"It's a Maltese, silly boy," Arthur mused, "with its hair groomed in a puppy cut style. I thought the long haired coats were a bit ridiculous, and this one suited you more. It's all prim and proper... in terms of appearance."

"The fuck? I don't want this," Lovino replied resentfully, wondering just how would the bastard react. Would he be hurt? Good, because Lovino was - well, he wasn't _hurt _that Arthur invited Michelle instead of him! Besides, he didn't really want to hurt Arthur... Just a bit of revenge. When a dark emotion - pain or hurt or _something -_ passed through the blond's eyes, however, Lovino felt shame and guilt flood his mind, washing out his prior motivation. The Italian huffed haughtily and stuffed the toy dog into his satchel, snapping, "But if it makes you feel better, bastard, I'll take it! Personally, I thought you would get something a little bigger!"

Arthur chuckled and replied, "I did, _twice_ actually, but I traded it for two smaller prizes each. It would be ludicrous to have to carry a large prize around the entire theme park when we haven't even covered half the grounds!"

"What were the other prizes?"

"Chelly's carrying one around in her purse," Arthur answered shortly. Lovino glanced at the girl walking in front of them, studying the prizes offered by each booth with interest. "She liked the Papillon dog. I had Antonio take a short-haired Chihuahua to give to his baby cousin."

"And the fourth?" Lovino pressed tentatively. If Arthur hadn't mentioned it, he most likely didn't want to talk about it. Still, the younger Italian thought the subject virtually harmless. Arthur held out a small two-toned Yorkshire Terrier in his palm before wrapping his fingers around it and shoving it into one of the larger pockets of his jacket, zipping it up and securing it.

"For my little brother."

Lovino was silent, not wanting to prod any further. This would make it the second time the blond said anything about his family, and Lovino didn't want to push his luck with the lion and his notorious temper - not that Lovino's was much better. Fortunately, Arthur didn't say anything more on the topic and was happy to divert the attention onto Antonio. "What do you have there, wanker?" the Briton called out to the Spaniard, who was evaluating the set-up of a ring toss. "I'll beat you at this one as well!" Wrapping an arm around Lovino's shoulders, he pulled the Italian along. Lovino was surprised to find that Arthur's body was, despite the summer heat, cool and subconsciously leaned into the touch, finding it rather comfortable. Antonio immediately narrowed his eyes at the sight, but Arthur quickly retracted his arm and paid for their game.

"How are you feeling?" Michelle asked of the Italian with a gentle smile on her lips.

"Fine, what makes you ask, _bella_?" Lovino replied in a courteous tone. He wasn't flirting with her; he couldn't. After all, it was only right to treat another man's lover with respect. He couldn't even dislike her. He was a man, after all, and he would be a gentleman.

"Brows was pretty worried about you," Michelle elaborated quietly, folding her hands behind her back. "He said you looked kind of sick after our last ride. Of course, he would notice something that like." Her last statement was spoken with a warm smile filled with admiration. Lovino had to turn away for a moment; there was an unpleasant churning in his stomach that was slightly relieved when he didn't have to confront _that_ sort of face. When she spoke again, the Italian boy politely made eye contact with her. "He doesn't act like it, but he's actually really concerned about other people." Bitterness crossed her lips briefly, and had Lovino not been watching, the brunet would have missed the sorrowful expression on her visage. "He always takes trouble into his own hands. Sometimes we wonder if he has a death wish - Francis and me - because he's always troubled with something." Lovino remembered the first time they held a real conversation. Arthur accused him of having problems; Lovino hadn't realized then that the same could have been and could still be said about the English boy. "This time, it's my fault, I think."

Lovino blinked in confusion. "I don't think you're troubling him," the Italian told her bemusedly. Really, the brunet thought with a mental scowl, that so-called specially privileged bastard always had to twist and turn the plot, confusing him even more and even worse than before. Was he making this girl cry now? "I... I think he cares about you."

She laughed. "Yes, I suppose if he didn't, he wouldn't help me," Michelle reaffirmed his previous statement. "Francis always says that he wishes that Brows would help himself a little more than he does other people though. He can't take care of himself, apparently, but don't tell him that either Francis or I said that." She gave him a little wink before humming lightly and joining the others in the ring toss, picking up a dolphin keychain when Arthur managed to score a small prize and clipping it to her purse. Lovino watched as Arthur glared at her lightly before relaxing with a gentle smile and a casual shrug, his indignation diffusing just as quickly as it came. The brunet found that his chest ached slightly but brushed it off as a side effect of the summer heat; there couldn't have been any other meaning to it.

The party of four wandered away from the games and down a scenic route. After stopping for ice cream, Lovino had to ask Arthur what Winston and Elizabeth were doing. The blond replied that Miss Jane was looking after them, and from there the conversation evolved to include Michelle, who wanted to thank _Mademoiselle _Jane for her help the other day, and Antonio, who wanted to know whom _Señorita _Jane is.

"Blimey! This is bloody terrible! Where is our bleeding Paul McCartney, blast it all?!" someone exclaimed as they paced in front of an empty stage. The familiar name had caught Arthur's attention, who raised his head to stare face to face with three replicas of The Beatles.

"Is there a problem, gentlemen?" Arthur asked of the three eerily familiar faces. These men had the potential to be really good impersonators...if they didn't talk. They sounded like American wankers trying to sound British, in Arthur's personal opinion, just like Jones. Behind him, Michelle was sighing, muttering, "Not again," while Lovino and Antonio stared both bemused and amused at the same time.

"Hey, kid, you look like you listen to rock!" said the one carrying around a bright red guitar that was supposed to resemble Lucy. He quickly abandoned his fabricated accent in favour of speaking naturally in a voice that sounded somewhat like he came off the West Coast.

"Well, I do," Arthur answered reluctantly, wondering if he had gotten involved in something that he would grow to regret.

"How familiar are you with the Beatles?" asked the one with rounded specs.

"I, err," Arthur tried counting but gave up, "I believe I have their entire collection; I grew up listening to them actually. I'm not so big of a fan that I have everything memorised though." He paused. "Might I ask why?"

"You play bass?"

"Y-Yes?"

"For how long?"

"Roughly six years...?"

"You're hired! We'll need you to put on this wig and play this bass, alright? You feel comfortable with a Höfner? No? Get used to it before show starts."

* * *

"You wankers," Arthur seethed, directing his animosity to the trio sitting in the front row, giggling and sniggering and blatantly laughing at his appearance, "will never speak a word of this to anyone." Little did he know that Lovino had snapped a photo of him while he was playing on-stage, dressed in an awkward suit with a wig styled into a chestnut brown bowl-cut, and appearing as though he was having the time of his life.

It wasn't exactly how he imagined playing music with the Beatles, but it'll have to do. Plus, it was the first time he played a Höfner 500/1 violin bass. He'll have to think about investing in one of these beauts in the future.

* * *

"Why do they have a random house in here?" Antonio inquired as he poked his head inside the aforementioned building. He blinked upon seeing darkness and the faintest sign of yellow tape with thick black letters reading "caution." The Spaniard returned his head to the rest of his body outside the dark, dreary house. "Maybe it's still under construction."

"It's a haunted house, you bleeding _idiot_," Arthur sneered dryly, rolling his green eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Are we entering or not?"

"I've never been in a haunted house before," Antonio mused without paying any heed to his English rival.

"I didn't ask if you ever had," Arthur mumbled, making Michelle laugh and Lovino roll his eyes. The blond shoved his way inside, not giving Antonio any more time to think, ushering the Spaniard into the - well, what he thought was - commercialised building. When he heard the echoing dripping of water splashing onto metal and the too-loud-to-be-theirs footsteps, his suspicions were confirmed. Well, this was going to be a bore.

Antonio laughed nervously in front of them. "This is kind of creepy, no?" the Spaniard chirped in his usual carefree manner.

Blast, he just made this git party leader, didn't he?

Arthur tensed, feeling someone clench on the back of his bloody expensive jacket, but when he turned his head to catch a glance of the culprit, he found a flash of hazel eyes flitting about nervously and a bouncing curl. Arthur sighed through his nose and smiled warmly at Lovino before shrugging to himself. Well, it was just a jacket. Still, the blond couldn't help himself from taking the small warm hand from the back of his jacket and into the palm of his left hand, squeezing it lightly when he felt Lovino stiffen.

From what he knew, it was better to have someone with you - the comfort of an actual person - when it came to fears.

Michelle subconsciously locked arms with him, unnerved by the darkness, and he didn't blame her. Nobody knew what was to come after all -

Antonio squealed when a hand reached out for him. It seemed the Spaniard was observing a mummy on display, but the aforementioned mummy was now moving. "Hurry, _amigos_!" he cried, racing out of the area without casting a glance behind him, assuming his friends were doing the same. "Let's get out of here!"

Arthur nodded to the mummy, saluting in a military fashion, with a wide smirk on his lips to congratulate him on a job well-done, and the mummy, confused, returned the nod and salute.

"It's a family park, so they can't stare the little ones too much," Arthur told his two friends as they tried searching for Antonio. "There will only be simple scares..." The blond trailed away from his original statement to ask what the Spaniard in front of them was doing. The Briton peered over the shoulder of the taller man and found that he was staring sceptically at a rope bridge. "You git, it's a theme park. If you receive any injury from their haunted house, they're liable for it. Now go," with that, Arthur kicked some Spanish ass forward to get the line moving, "you're holding up the line." He could faintly hear new visitors coming and being frightened by the mummy from earlier.

"That's not the problem!" Antonio whined, not wanting to turn back as he stepped cautiously onto the wooden planks. "It's all wobbly! And mist is covering the bottom, so I can't see what's below us!"

"That's the point, you twit," Arthur snapped. In a lower voice, he grumbled, "There's nothing below us," so that he wouldn't ruin any illusion the others were having. Being scared is only half of the fun of going through a haunted house, right? At any rate, after constantly threatening Antonio that he would dare to push him off the bridge, the party finally made it to the end. Unfortunately, Antonio was still being a moron and blocked the rest of the passage to the exit. "Oh, what now?"

"Oi, _engrendo de Satanás_," Antonio grunted, "is this some kind of joke? I can't get through, but I see the exit over there. Is there some of force field I have to deactivate?"

"What the deuce are you saying?" Arthur mumbled. He raised his right hand and reached around them, finding a cool surface. Peering closer, he found that it reflected their image. "It's a mirror. They're all mirrors. Reflecting darkness... _Brilliant_. We're lost."

"There's got to be a way out though," Michelle pointed out.

"Yes," Arthur agreed, "but it'll just take a bloody lot of time to find it."

"Well, we have all day, right, Lovi? Lovi?"

"Huh?" Lovino snapped back to reality. The Italian had been staring at their mirror image. He was estranged from his boyfriend, holding the hand of a person who was already seeing someone else, said girl being on his other side. The brunet pulled his hand away, instantaneously yearning for Arthur's cool hand, reluctantly and trudged towards Antonio, pushing him forward. "Start looking for a way out, bastard!"

After being surprised by skeletons dropping from the ceiling, Frankenstein monsters ("Because in Mary Shelly's _Frankenstein_," Arthur reminded them, "the monster is nameless, although Shelly _does_ refer to him as 'Adam' on occasion, and Frankenstein is actually the name of the doctor.") chasing them around with plastic cleavers, werewolves and vampires battling it out in the middle of the room and consequently blocking all exits, and some kind of zombie clown chainsaw man following them around, the party finally found the escape door, and Lovino made a point to stay away from that fucking sexy _bastardo leone_.

* * *

"Brows, do you mind?" Michelle inquired with pleading eyes. "I _did_ tell them that I would be here, and they _did_ tell me that they would find me... So...?"

Arthur sighed, feigning exasperation, before shooing her off with his hand. "Go, join your friends. Just call me or the frog when you leave and get home, okay? It's not like we're being overprotective, but... Better safe than sorry." The islander girl gave him a nod and a smile before she ran off to join her female companions in place of the three males.

"Is it alright to let her go?" Lovino asked skeptically.

"It's what she wants to do," Arthur replied, shrugging nonchalantly.

"You do understand that you're the third wheel now, right, Kirkland?" Antonio remarked dryly.

"Bollocks."

* * *

"We finally found you!" Alfred chirped as he jogged towards the three missing boys. Without giving anyone a moment's rest, he exclaimed for his next venture, "Let's ride on that one next!" The American pointed to the tallest roller-coaster in the park, and Lovino could feel himself paling. Antonio was being dragged along by Gilbert and Francis to catch up on what the Spaniard had missed, and Kiku and Jia Long already vanished with Alfred and Matthew. The younger blond only returned to say, "Hey, Artie, you coming?"

"No, I think I'd rather stay here," Arthur responded nonchalantly, glancing over at Lovino momentarily, before crossing his arms and telling Alfred to go have fun. The American reluctantly left the two of them to rejoin the others. His hesitation was soon lost, however, after three seconds or so.

"Why don't you go with them, bastard?"

"Why don't you?" the blond retorted. He smiled at Lovino and jerked his head towards a random direction. "Come on, let's walk around for a bit. It's no fun waiting for them, especially when the line itself is at least thirty or forty minutes."

Lovino begrudgingly followed Arthur, unable to despise the blond and stay away, around the theme park, asking, "Hey, bastard, do you even know where you're going?"

"Well, getting lost is half the fun," Arthur remarked sheepishly, sauntering casually down the path, expertly avoiding other people. Lovino grunted, wondering if the bastard was walking so fast on purpose, before quickening his pace so that they wouldn't be separated. Still, he avoided all eye contact with Arthur. He wouldn't be taken by this bastard. He couldn't. He had Antonio, who was always so kind to him unlike this sarcastic, mysterious bastard, but... but in his own way, Arthur was comforting to be around. For a moment, when Arthur asked, "Where's your sense of adventure?" Lovino thought he was able to read his mind, but then he realized that the blond was referring to his previous inquiry.

"You're wasting a hell lot of money here, you know," Lovino pointed out as Arthur bought a tuft of cotton candy. The blond ripped the condensed pink powder off the pastel striped cone and stuck it onto his tongue. Lovino watched, mystified and enraptured, as the cotton dissolved on his wet tongue, coating the silver stud piercing through it with sugar.

Arthur retracted his tongue, oblivious to his friend's staring, and shrugged. "I don't need money; I don't _have _money, actually," he responded casually with a wry smile. "It always seems to replenish whenever I spend it. It's my way of raising Hell, I think, because I can't think of any other way to rebel against her."

"I don't even know what you're talking about, bastard," Lovino grumbled. He was taken by surprise when Arthur nonchalantly shoved a piece of cotton candy past his lips. He flushed, flustered, when he felt cold fingers slipping away from his lips, slick with his own saliva, and grew even more bothered when the blond continued consuming his cotton candy as though nothing had happened. Lovino kept his lips sealed, unable to trust himself with speaking, and waited until the sugar melted and dissolved entirely in his mouth. After a moment, he added, "If you're going to tell me something, then tell it to me, dammit."

The blond chuckled and pulled Lovino onto a bench. The two boys sat side by side, Arthur silently consuming his candy floss, occasionally feeding a piece to Lovino, who arbitrarily opened his mouth to take the offering because it didn't look like the blond would get the idea that, no, Lovino would not be fed and refused to be fed, subconsciously letting his lips linger on the pale fingers from time to time. "All right," Arthur conceded. Lovino assumed that he had been thinking all this time since the blond hadn't even seemed the slightest bit bothered about the fact that he had been feeding Lovino like a pet. "I've nothing to lose, anyway. The truth is that this money doesn't belong to me. I have... a benefactor, so to speak, since I don't have a family any more."

"Earlier," Lovino pointed out, "you said you have a brother."

"I do," Arthur confirmed. "I have four brothers, but... I was disowned." Lovino's eyes widened from surprise. "I don't know if I can call them my brothers any more; I'm not too sure about the legal matters involving the whole ordeal. Nobody's been called into court or anything from what I know. Biologically, we are still blood related though - in one way or another."

Lovino couldn't even imagine being separated from Feliciano for life. Even though the younger Vargas twin was annoying as fuck, he was still Lovino's brother, and although he would never admit it aloud, Lovino cared for him. He didn't and couldn't fathom how anyone could abandon family just like that. Growing alongside and with someone for life, how could they suddenly leave you to yourself - shit, he had brought up a really bad topic, hadn't he?

"_Mi dispiace tanto_, _bas_ - " Lovino stopped himself. Was Arthur really a bastard then? By definition, what was a bastard? He couldn't recall the archaic definition of a bastard. Dammit, had he been calling Arthur something he really was, by definition, all along? "I-I'm sorry, A-A-Ar - " he gulped, forcing himself to speak the name, no matter how embarrassing it was now " - Art-_Arthur_."

"What did you do wrong?" the blond mused with an amused smirk, smug even after all of this confessing, as he ran his fingers through Lovino's hair idly, ruffling the brown locks in a manner he supposed to be comforting. His green eyes were distant now, the otherworldly colors truly lost in another world, and Lovino didn't know if he could reach him anymore. "You did nothing wrong, Lovino. You don't have to apologise. You just asked a question, and I was keeping secrets from you. I still am, actually, to be honest, but... I'll tell you some other time, promise. Not here." Arthur smiled upon him. It was filled with dark emotions. Remorse. Regret. Guilt. Shame. Sorrow. Misery. Agony. Lovino wanted to apologize all over again. His eyes were still lost, still gone, still so empty. "It's a theme park. Smile, you git."

"You first," Lovino blurted out immediately, blushing red as soon as he realized what he had said. Arthur laughed softly at his vexation before standing up and throwing away the empty cone.

"Right," the blond confirmed with a subtle nod. "I ought to do as I preach."

He held out a hand to Lovino and smiled genuinely this time. Lovino's cheeks flared. Dammit, the Italian cursed himself, pulling his eyes away, the bastard - no, _Arthur _- was just too cute and fucking adorable. He hadn't even realized he had accepted Arthur's hand until he was back on his feet.

"I don't think that I've answered your question from earlier - not completely, anyway," Arthur mentioned, "about the money, that is."

"It's alright," Lovino assured hurriedly, turning away from the blond in shame. "You don't have to answer it. Just... I don't care why you do it, but be more careful with money, dammit."

"Of course, Mother," Arthur replied teasingly. "You can still call me a bastard, you know," the blond added. "By definition, a bastard is an illegitimate child, not one who is disowned. Did I said whether my parents were married or not when they had me? No, I don't believe I did."

"O-Oh."

"It's getting dark," Arthur stated idly in an attempt to lighten the mood. "We should be getting back to - oh dear."

"What?" Lovino asked the blond, wide eyed. Had one of his brothers found him at the park right after they were done talking about them? That would be a scene that Lovino definitely did not want to deal with -

"Do you, by chance, remember the way back to that roller-coaster Jones wanted to ride?"

Lovino deflated. Was that it? "N-No, dammit," he grumbled, kicking the toe of his boot meekly. He had been staring at the ground the whole time. What a fucking idiot.

"Damn," Arthur cursed lightly before shrugging. "I forgot the way back. I don't even remember what it was called." He pulled out his phone and checked the time. "Well, if the gits were truly concerned about us, then they would call. I wouldn't be surprised if they forgot about us though."

"Antonio wouldn't," Lovino mentioned indignantly. "The bastard's been way too protective recently."

Arthur smiled somewhat wryly, somewhat bitterly. "I suppose he would. You _are _a charmer, after all," the blond mused and resumed walking.

Lovino followed after him, grumbling, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"_Buongiorno, bella_!" Arthur mimicked the younger boy in his best Italian accent. He gave a flamboyant and overly dramatic bow with fluid arm movements. "How are you today, you lovely _signorina_?" The Briton burst out laughing at Lovino's scandalised expression. "Is that not what you do?"

"I have more charm than that, you bastard!"

Arthur smirked victoriously. "There you go, little ankle-biter," he mused. "That's more like it."

_He doesn't act like it, but he's actually really concerned about other people, _Michelle had told him. _He always takes trouble into his own hands... He can't take care of himself._

Lovino faintly understood what Michelle meant now. Arthur was always helping people. He fought the ones who wanted to fight, he threw surprise parties for the ones who were too shy to say they wanted something, he listened to the ones who have too much to complain, and he cheered up the ones who were uncomfortable, depressed, suffocating. He was always doing something for someone else but never for himself. He was a selfless bastard.

"Do you want to ride the Ferris wheel?" Arthur asked of Lovino with a soft smile. "It might give us a better view of where they are. We could plan a meeting place there or the like."

"Y-Yeah, sure," Lovino agreed hastily. He shyly reached Arthur's side, and as they strolled to the large wheel, the back of their hands brushed against each other.

They waited for a moment in line, which moved rather quickly considering how the other guests were more willing to ride the faster attractions. When they reached the front, the Italian began to realize how ridiculous this was. They were two teenage boys alone, riding in a single gondola, on a Ferris wheel. He nearly backed out until he felt Arthur's cool hand pull him along. The younger boy relaxed, feeling how his hand fit perfectly in the blond's, before taking a seat opposite of him. Lovino stared out of the gondola, finding that night had already settled upon the island.

"_Blackbird singing in the dead of night_," sang a voice opposite of him. Lovino stole a glance at Arthur and found that he was lost in his own world, again, with his green eyes so far away from him and yet so close. "_Take these broken wings and learn to fly... All your life... You were only waiting for this moment to arise_."

"I didn't know you played guitar, bastard," Lovino mentioned in a half-hearted attempt to capture his attention. He was successful. Arthur snapped out of his daydream and grinned sheepishly.

"I play a little bit of guitar and some piano. What you saw me play was bass," Arthur corrected. "Bass is part of the rhythm team in a band; it help supports the foundation of the song. It's really pleasant, to me, to hear a bassline."

Lovino hummed, not knowing how to contribute to the conversation. He didn't play any instruments himself. He didn't know how to do anything artistic, actually, since that was Feliciano's forte.

A thundering boom and wild crackling brought his attention to the skies. Multiple rains of colors showered downward, dissipating within the darkness, and Arthur stared at them with unmasked awe. Lovino pursed his lips and got up in the gondola and took a seat with Arthur instead. When the blond shot him a curious glance, Lovino clicked his tongue and responded, "I have a better view here," because it wasn't like he wanted to get closer or anything... He leaned against the cool body casually. He just wanted to see the fireworks. That's it. That's all there is to it.

Arthur smiled.

* * *

**A/N:** I just wanted to see Arthur dressed up as a member of the Beatles, honestly. I think it'd be cute. The verse that he sings at the end is an excerpt from "Blackbird" by the Beatles, written by Paul McCartney. I don't own a single word, only an album with that beautiful song.


	11. Chapter 11 - The Confrontation

**Chapter Eleven: The Confrontation**

"What are you doing here, Brows?" Chelly asked the older boy.

"Ordering ice cream," was the curt answer she received. Chelly rolled her eyes and got him his usual single scoop waffle cone. After Arthur paid and absent-mindedly licked at the cold, minty delight, he asked her, "Is he around?"

"I saw him around the corner a few seconds ago," the islander girl replied forlornly, casting her gaze to the white tiles on the floor, which were speckled with colours to mimic the sprinkles on vanilla ice cream. "Why? You're not going to do anything stupid, are you?"

"Since when do I ever do anything stupid?" Arthur responded offhandedly, taking another dab at his ice cream, as he leaned against the corner, elbows resting on the surface. Even though he knew he had botched up a good number of times in extremities possibly unimaginable or unfathomable, Chelly didn't know that, so he would play this façade of his however long it would last. Only a few people knew what laid behind the mask, so Arthur figured there wouldn't be much harm to continue wearing it. Thus, he raised a thick eyebrow in pure scepticism, challenging her to respond.

"At the theme park yesterday - "

"Okay, forget it," Arthur interrupted the girl immediately, not wanting to relive the Beatles experience. He could have done without the bowl-cut and and stiff suit, both of which fit him awkwardly, obviously tailored for another bloke. "Anyway, I just wanted to end this stupid charade of his. It's bloody ridiculous."

"You called the police?"

"No, even better," Arthur replied shortly with a confident smirk, "I'm handling it. The bleeding loon won't even _think _about pulling this bloody shite with you or any other bird once I'm through with him."

"Jesus Christ," she muttered, "don't do anything stupid."

"Don't worry your pretty little head over it, Chelly," Arthur chirped in that dangerously gentle voice of his. "I'll protect you like the good big brother I am."

"You sound like Francis."

"Please," Arthur retorted, "my accent is much more elegant and sophisticated than his."

"Especially when you curse."

"Yes, _especially _when I curse."

They shared a similar smile and laugh before Arthur exited the ice cream parlour, not wanting to scare off any single mothers with his piercings and tattoos despite however fascinated their children may be with his appearance, leaving Chelly to work. He seated himself at a table outside, crossing his boot covered feet and lazily finishing off his mint chocolate-chip ice cream. It's been about ten days since Alfred's birthday, and only two days ago, Lili's birthday passed. The girl spent her day with her brother, Vash, who nearly spoilt her senseless. Today was Francis' birthday, and the young Frenchman always spent the morning with himself, the afternoon with his friends, and the evening with his family. Vain wanker.

Arthur glanced at the time on his iPhone. There was still about ten minutes until their meeting time in front of the ice cream parlour, and if he caught the stalking loon any time within that time frame, then he would pass judgement himself. Otherwise, he seriously would call the cops. This had gone on long enough on his watch.

"Ve, look, _Fratello_! It's Artù!"

"Chigi! Let go, Feli! I can walk by myself!" Lovino snapped angrily, yet he didn't yank his arm free from Feliciano's grasp when Arthur knew that the older Vargas was perfectly capable of doing so. On their outing at the beach, Arthur noticed that Lovino was slightly more athletic than Feliciano. The older Vargas had leaner and firmer muscles in his limbs and abdominal muscles, the signs of someone who did running quite often. Still, the Italian brothers approached Arthur; the brighter one was smiling and rambling a thousand words a mile in both English and Italian while the darker one was scowling and grumbling incoherently in both English and Italian. A strange language, indeed, Arthur confirmed his old suspicions.

"Ve, what are you doing here, Artù?"

"Can't you see, _idiota_? He's eating ice cream," Lovino grunted. His cheeks flushed for some inexplicable reason once more.

At the same time, Arthur's tongue had routinely stretched to lick the melting ice cream. The silver stud in his tongue reflected the sun's light, catching Feliciano's attention. "What's that in your tongue, Artù?"

"It's a piercing," Arthur answered shortly, unsure of any other way to phrase it. He thought it was bloody obvious; what else would be in his tongue?

"Ve, did it hurt?"

"Quite a bit, yes," the blond admitted. He was oblivious to the fact that Lovino was now flushing red, unable to pull his eyes away from the glimmering shine of the metal. "So are you two here to get ice cream as well?"

"Vee, is that what we were doing, _Fratello_?"

"Chigi!" Lovino squealed. "You _idiota_, we were going to buy groceries from the market for dinner!"

"Oh yeah!"

Lovino palmed his forehead.

Arthur chuckled in amusement, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadowy figure. He glanced at Michelle, who was serving a little boy and his mother, oblivious to the shadow creeping in between the small cracks and alleys formed by two buildings and behind lamp posts and trees. The blond kept a weary eye on the shadows. Even when Francis and Gilbert greeted him, he barely responded. He ignored their jokes and teasing completely and attempted to ignore the fact that Carriedo was flirting with and molesting Lovino in front of him. That wasn't anything new, he told himself, trying to calm down. Lovino could handle it. They've been dating for almost a year. Carriedo is just a moron -

When he saw a flash of light from the shadows, however, Arthur lost it and dropped his ice cream cone, the melted ice cream splattering on the pavement. The blond dashed across the streets, narrowly avoiding cars, receiving blaring honks and vehement curses and malicious gestures. Without a second thought, Arthur snatched the digital camera from the petrified shadow man. Turning away from the stalker, the Briton flicked through the pictures, finding endless footage of his little sister, growing more and more enraged.

"G-Give that back!"

"Fuck you," Arthur snapped, chucking the camera downwards onto the concrete, and smashed the device with the heel of his boot, shattering it to pieces. Just as the man scrambled to his feet, Arthur pivoted on his left foot and used the momentum to slam the sole of his right boot into the jaw of the shadow man's face at a perfect ninety degree angle. When he found that wasn't enough, he delivered the man a left hook, followed by a right hook, and another left-right-left combination. The blond snatched a fistful of the shadow man's shirt, glaring threateningly at the stalker, and pulled him off the ground. He could faintly hear someone calling his name, but now was not the time. The toe of his boot pressed dangerously close to the shadow man's crotch, daring to deprive him of any children and grandchildren, and he spat, "Wot da bloody fuckin' 'ell were yew thinkin', ya mangy lil' wanker? I'll fuckin' beat yew ter a bleedin' pulp if yew e'er lay yaahr grimy lil' beady rat eyes on Chelly e'er again, an' I'll bloody castrate yaahr lil' prick, OK? Daan't fuckin' look at me loike 'at 'cause yer really pissin' me off, ya dir'y fucker." Just as he raised his fist to prove his point, two hands suddenly wrapped around Arthur's torso, and despite how desperately and violently he thrashed and flailed and kicked, they would not let him go. "Get yaaher 'ands off me!" Arthur snapped, green eyes glowering at the police officers. "Bugger off!" The blond roared ferociously, like a caged beast, as he rammed his weight against the officers, breaking free from the hold. His freedom was fleeting and short lived. Every other noise was drowned by his cries of agony when a wave of electricity corroded his body. Arthur collapsed to his knees, a pair of metal handcuffs binding his wrists, as they carried him into a police car.

Moments before, Lovino was watching, petrified with utter mortification, as Arthur stole a camera from a man dressed in some low-quality gray suit, flicking through the pictures, before throwing it onto the ground and breaking the device. He could feel his brother quaking in fear behind him, but Feliciano's terror was immeasurable in comparison to what Lovino had felt. Someone had released the feared rampant lion within Arthur, and, doubtless, nobody could tame such a beast.

Lovino didn't want to see his friend like this, and yet he couldn't tear his eyes away from the Lion. He had stared, dumbfounded and shell-shocked, as the beast overwhelmed Arthur, taking over his senses, and began pummeling the man. Francis, Gilbert, and Antonio had raced to the scene, trying to snap Arthur out of his rage, but failed to restore his senses. Someone, a bystander, had called for the police, and even then Lovino could only watch as his friend fought the authority, trying to escape like a cornered animal, only to be stunned with a taser and carried into the police car.

"_Fratello_, _che cosa è successo_?" Feliciano inquired meekly. "What just happened?"

"_Non lo so_," Lovino replied before turning his attention to the three bastards being questioned by the police, "I don't know, and I don't know if I want to find out."

* * *

"You could be charged with assault you know," the policeman behind the desk told Arthur as he laid down two cards. "Two sevens."

"Bullshit," Arthur grunted. He had all four sevens - hearts, spades, clubs, and diamonds - so the officer was clearly bluffing. The policeman cursed and took the pile of cards from the centre of the table that the officer had pulled up to play cards and keep him company. It was obvious that the man sympathised with him, not that Arthur really minded. As soon as that was done and over with, cards collected, Arthur tossed a single card from between the iron bars onto the surface of the table. "It was self-defence. One eight."

"The other person didn't strike you. Three nines."

"No," Arthur replied, "but he was stalking my friend." The blond glanced at his cards and responded, "Bullshit." He had a nine of hearts and of spades. There was no way that this Constable - Arthur peeked at the name - Wright could have three of them.

"You're good at this game, kid," Constable Wright commented shortly, taking all of the cards.

"No, you just suck," Arthur responded, recalling the time when Émilie had mopped the floor with him at the same game. The younger Bonnefoy was an amazing player when it came to cards. Arthur laid down a bluff, "One ten."

"You should have called the cops," Constable Wright remarked, falling for the lie easily. "Two Jacks."

"One Queen," Arthur replied, glancing at his Queen of Spades before tossing her into the pile. What was with this deck? Every face card at a legitimate face, personalised to be their own person. The Queen of Spades had emerald eyes with wire rimmed glasses and blonde hair pulled into twin tails. It was rather interesting. "Sorry, he pissed me off before I had the chance. My mistake."

"Two kings," played the officer. Arthur called on his bullshit, making him curse. Arthur had all of the kings in his hand as well. "You should always call the police."

"We just wanted to confirm that he was a stalker first," Arthur admitted. "Michelle thought she was being paranoid."

"It's always better to be safe than sorry."

"I'm not sorry," Arthur retorted. "The bloody twat deserved it." He glanced at his hand and bluffed again, placing down a two of clubs in place of an ace. "One ace."

"Bullshit," the policeman chirped happily, finally able to call Arthur out. The blond rolled his eyes and retrieved the pile of cards. "I have all of the aces!"

"Good for you, Constable, but you still have a good ninety-nine percent of the deck. It's a wonder how you didn't catch any of my other bluffs before," Arthur griped. "Now play."

"Two two's," Constable Wright returned. "You know, revenge never fixes anything."

"Then what can? An apology letter?" Arthur spat, dealing his triple three's. "Life is never fair, and a just world is only a delusion. You take what you get and return what you can. It's called the reciprocity norm, the _rule _of reciprocity. It's a principle of psychology."

"You don't really believe in that," Constable Wright remarked. "Bullshit."

Arthur scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Then take it all, Constable," the blond countered. He then dealt his last card, a four of hearts. "I win." He smiled bitterly, feeling the need to add, "There are no good people in this world. Only idiots."

"Well, the good people you call idiots are testifying for you," Constable Wright retorted. "They are arguing on behalf of, as the albino one stated, their 'awesome _Freund_, Arthur.' Given the rate of how things are going, your story looks as though it'll check out. We managed to retrieve the memory card of the camera you destroyed. You'll have to stay in this cell a little longer though."

"That's fine with me," Arthur responded, turning away from the policeman and pulling the rickety wooden chair with him. It was probably the single most comfortable item in the cell... If only blood stains could be washed off it. "I've nowhere to be."

"Do you have anyone to bail you out of here? A legal guardian?"

"None," Arthur replied tersely.

"Nobody?"

"No one."

Constable Wright raised an eyebrow, doubtful of Arthur's words, before leaving the room and isolating the student. The blond eyed his phone, keys, and wallet on the desk, wondering briefly if he could reach his stuff. He quickly dismissed the idea; the desk was a fair distance away from the cells. He was thin enough to slip through the bars either. Besides, even if he managed to retrieve his phone, who would he ring up to bail him from the police station? His oldest brother wanted nothing to do with him, and the second and third oldest could do absolutely nothing - useless nitwits - while Peter was much too young even to leave the house by himself! And that woman was still in France, so she wouldn't be able to get here until evening or night.

"_Mon ami_!"

"Artie!"

"_El diablo Inglés_!"

The three Bad Friends burst into the room. Gilbert threw himself against the iron bars, trying to reach for Arthur and pull him out of the bars dramatically, before falling to his knees in defeat. Francis rolled his eyes and kicked Gilbert out of the way. The Frenchman turned to ask Arthur, "Are you going to be okay?"

"It's a little chilly in here, but I think I'll manage to survive," the Briton responded cheekily. He crossed his arms and leaned against the iron bars, "Happy birthday, Frog."

"_Oui, merci_, this is the greatest birthday present ever! I've always wanted to see you locked up behind bars," Francis replied sarcastically without even trying to keep the venom at bay. "Really, Arthur, what were you thinking?"

"Nothing," Arthur confessed, "nothing at all... Only that this was the loon who kept harassing and terrifying Chelly, who's practically my little sister, and he's pulling that shit front of my face. I just lost it." His voice took a bitter turn with which Francis and Gilbert were familiar. It was the same tone he used when referring to that woman and the turmoil between him and his brothers. "I wanted to protect her, but in the end, I can't protect anyone or anything. I ruin everything."

"You will be okay," Gilbert spoke brazenly, keeping his ruby gaze focused on the smaller blond, as he stood back onto his feet. "Should I call Old Fritz or - ?"

"No, it's fine. I brought this upon myself, so I'll see to it," Arthur responded airily, waving his hand dismissively. "I won't be in here long anyway. You gits enjoy yourselves. Could you tell Miss Jane to watch over Winston and Elizabeth for a little longer?"

They gave Arthur dubious stares until the feisty blond tried kicking them out of the room with his feet. In all actuality, he only wanted time to himself, and until the police brought in other suspects from other cases, the blond would be by himself. Francis gave Arthur one last glance and a dry smile when the latter gave him a two finger salute. "Enjoy your birthday dinner, Frog," Arthur muttered with no ill intentions - an actual, sincere wish - as he continued leaning against the iron bars. They were rusted slightly, but he felt like they were the cleanest thing in the entire cell.

The blond closed his eyes, basking in his thoughts. He wondered what the Vargas brothers thought of him now. Feliciano was just starting to warm up to him, but he figured he scared the younger twin away due to his previous actions now. The artist was like a newborn puppy, after all, so it was no surprise to the Briton at all that he had intimidated Feliciano - possibly for good as well. Rather, Arthur was more concerned about Lovino, who knew him better than Feliciano. Hopefully, it didn't affect their friendship much. While he knew Gilbert and Francis could have cared less if he lost his temper, Arthur knew virtually nothing about Lovino's reaction. The blond couldn't place a finger exactly on what to expect from the younger boy. The brunet had seen the Briton fight before, but he had never seen Arthur close to murdering someone until now. He didn't want to frighten him away, honestly. The Italian boy was endearing, and Arthur didn't want to lose his company.

His heart hurt at the very aspect. Arthur's hand clutched at his chest, the fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He already knew he was in too deep with the Italian by now; maybe it was a sign. He had gotten too attached, and now he was suffering the consequences for it.

The worst part was that he had all day to mull over the possibilities of what was to come in regards to Lovino.

* * *

"Hey, kid, wake up," Constable Wright commanded as he poked Arthur with his baton. "I've never seen someone sleep upright before. You couldn't have sat down and sleep?"

"Yew ought ter clean da cells mawer often," Arthur remarked sleepily, smacking his lips as he tried blinking the sleep out of his eyes. The blond yawned and stretched his limbs, stumbling over his feet slightly because of how he had stood for so long. "Wot time is i'?"

"It's been four hours since you were detained," the policeman answered shortly, shuffling through his keys to find one that unlocked the cell. Four hours? Arthur thought to himself. That should be enough time for a flight from Paris. Did they call her? "It took a while to find someone related to you," Constable Wright continued, "but we got the job done when we snooped around your area of residence. The nice lady at the front desk gave us some emergency contacts filed under your name."

"Oh, is that so?" Arthur replied lazily, tired and exhausted. Damn, he couldn't even walk in a straight line, and he wasn't even drunk. The blond stumbled out of the cell and followed Constable Wright to the front. The latter was filling out some paperwork.

"Ye better nae be plastered, brat."

Arthur froze at the familiar voice speaking behind him. He whirled around and faced a tall young man no older than twenty-five with dark crimson hair more tamed than Arthur's own, thick eyebrows darker than Arthur's own, and glowering green emeralds similar to his own. "Wot da bloody 'ell 're _you_ doin' 'ere?" Arthur spat furiously, feeling his fingers ball into fists ready to strike.

"Bailin' yer sorry arse oot o' jyle - that's whit," Alistair snapped just as indignantly. "Be grateful, ye hotheaded little bastard!"

"I didn't ask fer yaahr 'elp!" Arthur roared, slamming his fist onto the front desk, making the items on top of it jump slightly along with Constable Wright. "An' in case you've forgotten, yer just as 'otheaded as I am - if not mawer!"

"Weel, either wey that's tae damn bad!" the older Kirkland hissed. "Thae folks rang me up, an' aam haur at thair request! Nae yers, lad! Dinnae gie cocky!" With that, the Scotsman marched towards Arthur, signed the papers he was required to sign, before receiving permission to be dismissed. The redhead quickly snatched the English boy's wrist, pulling him along. Arthur was quiet and incensed; Alistair was at a loss. "Urr ye still in contact wi' 'at woman?"

Arthur snorted. "Wot does i' matter ter ya?"

"Stoap seein' 'er," Alistair warned. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it up. He inhaled deeply, dragging the nicotine into his system, before exhaling. The cloud of smoke surrounded the brothers. "She's nae guid."

"I daan't need yew tellin' me somethin' I already kna," the blond retorted, stealing the cigarette and stomping on it. "Stop smokin'," he chastised, gradually reverting to his proper speech. "We're in public. There's no need ter expose the children ter second 'and smoke." He huffed and crossed his arms. "I'm going back to the flat."

"That woman's flat?" Alistair remarked in the Queen's English, deciding to play Arthur's game as well.

"Who else? Besides, I've a cat and dog waiting for me," Arthur snapped indignantly. With that, the blond marched away from Alistair, leaving his oldest brother in the dust, and headed down Atlantic Road, following the path north to Rue Calais and Dover Street. Arthur recomposed himself as he entered the complex, smiling politely at Miss Jane and thanking the receptionist for her time and help.

"Did they deal with the stalker?" she asked gravely.

"Yes," Arthur replied shortly with an assuring smile, "I'm sure they did."

Miss Jane beamed. "That's good. You didn't get hurt?"

"Not at all."

"Well, Winston and Elizabeth are waiting for you! Hurry!"

"Much obliged," Arthur responded before scurrying into the lift. All he wanted was a nice, hot shower, some cuddling time with Elizabeth and Winston, and a nice, relaxing bath. The blond stepped off the lift at the twelfth floor, entering the flat, and did exactly that - after feeding his beloved pets, of course.

* * *

"Wid ye stoap it? Stoap this gam o' yers? He doesnae need a mammy, sister, an' lover aw in one. It's fucked up. He doesnae need 'at. He's tae auld tae speil hoose."

"It's not a game, Alistair. I love him. I care for him. Is this why you called? If so, then goodbye."

* * *

"Mm, Elizabeth, blimey," Arthur mumbled, burying his face deeper into the pillow. "Stop pawin' at me 'air, a'ight?"

There was giggling. Arthur froze. Elizabeth did not giggle. She was a cat. He turned his head and found a rosy pair of lips pressed against his. He returned the kiss lightly out of obligation. Deep azure jewels decorated with thin slivers of amethyst stared into his emerald gems, and her silky voice asked him, "Are you okay, _mon doux_? I heard you were detained, but for what reason?"

"There was a stalker," he answered quietly, tired and sleepy, "but I took care ov it."

"Oh, poor baby," she cajoled, fingers dancing on his skin. In her sickeningly sweet tone, she coaxed, "Allow me to take care of you. Do not concern yourself, _mon chéri_. I will please you as always." Her pink lips pressed against his pulse before she strayed lower, and Arthur... Arthur was too tired to fight back. The blond allowed the woman to play the role of his lover, and she ventured further and further. He clutched at the mattress, trying to prevent himself from holding her with the knowledge of the fact that his touches would only urge her to continue with her ministrations, only to find that his fingers entwined with her golden locks that slipped through his fingers like grains of sand, escaping like reality.

"Enough," he groaned, sitting upright, but instead of stopping her, he fell victim to her azure eyes. She crawled on top of him, straddling his waist, and Arthur found that she was only dressed in her lace bra, pressing her breasts together in a pleasing and enticing display, and panties. "Plannin' ter spend da night?"

"And the morning, _cher_," she promised, pecking his lips. "I'll be here for you. Forever. _Je t'aime et je t'aimerai toujours_." She guided his hands to her back, letting his fingers linger over the clasp of her bra. "Forever and ever. Until the day I die." A teasing smirk danced on her lips. Succubus. Enchantress. Temptress. Siren. Mermaid. There were so many words to describe her, but no matter what he called her, it did not change the fact that her words were a magical spell with the same effect on him as always.

Once more, he lost himself in this distorted universe. He always did. And he was scared. There was no one to help him.

* * *

**A/N:** This is the end of the stalker sub-arc, and since it's nearly halfway through July already, the summer arc is coming to a close. What would fall bring now that Scotland has made an appearance, I wonder? Well, first, we have to see what would be of Arthur and Lovino, wouldn't we? The woman still hasn't been named yet, but I'm sure _most_ will be revealed soon. All is saved for later. It seems there are other intentions at play here!

The game that Arthur and Constable Wright (another unimportant OC - just a name to a face) was playing is Bullshit. I'm average at Bullshit since I almost never bluff... The deck was a reference to Cardverse with an image of nyo!England as the Queen of Spades, by the way.

Again, thank you to everyone to favourited or followed or reviewed!


	12. Chapter 12 - Separation Anxiety

**Chapter Twelve: Separation Anxiety**

She moaned slightly, feeling the empty spot beside her, with discomfort and discontent. It was still warm though, and the imprint hadn't vanquished entirely. The blonde could hear the shuffling of fabric nearby as well, informing her that the young man was still nearby and that she wasn't alone - not yet anyway.

"_Où vas-tu_, _Arthur_?" she asked of her young lover, wondering where he was heading at this hour. The Frenchwoman blinked, adjusting her azure eyes to the rays of sunlight peaking through the blinds and hummed in thought. This place could use a woman's touch; the apartment didn't look like it would be something under her name. Really, the only signs of personality in the master bedroom were the bookshelves and the collection of rock CDs organized by band name and recording date and the bass guitar - a Gibson Les Paul SG Standard in a heritage cherry finish, he had once told her. According to his story, he had bought it for himself with the money he had saved about four or six years ago when he started learning how to play. She pulled the silk sheets to her chest, watching as her beloved dressed himself in those marvellously tight jeans that did wonders for his sexy ass, with a lazy smile on her lips. Oh, right, they hadn't eaten breakfast yet, so she asked him, "_Veux-tu du petit-déjeuner? Je serai ici la toute semaine_."

"_Pourquoi_?" he returned cautiously, sceptically, careful and calculating. She didn't blame him. She always had to leave for business. After being informed of this incident, however, she was more reluctant to leave Arthur alone to his own devices. "_Tu es femme de l'affaires, non? Est-il acceptable pour toi de laisser ton entreprise?_"

"_Je m'inquiète pour toi_," she confessed, genuine and honest, with a childish pout on her pink lips. She batted her long eyelashes, wearing the expression of a kicked or abandoned puppy.

Arthur sighed. Really, how old was she now? Moreover, how old did she think he was? "I can take care ov myself."

"_Tu ne sais pas cuisiner_," she remarked pointedly. "You've been ordering take-out, Arthur. I know. I've seen my bills. _Cependant_, it did smell like you've had _la nourriture italienne _recently." She caught a glance at Arthur's surprised face. How cute! Nevertheless, she told him, "_Ne me donne pas ce regard_! I know when someone has been messing around with my kitchen. _Dites-moi l'histoire!_"

"I 'ad a friend over," the blond answered as he pulled on a white button shirt and fumbled with the buttons. She smiled tenderly at him before taking charge. He turned away with embarrassment and red cheeks when the covers dropped, making her laugh. They had done so much last night, and he had already seen so much! Now why was he acting so shy? How cute! He grumbled his thanks and slipped on a jacket. "'ey wan'ed ter use da kitchen ter cook."

"Girl? Boy?"

"Does i' matter?"

"No, I suppose not, just curious is all," she chirruped, picking up his t-shirt from the floor and throwing it over her head. "_Viens ici_, Arthur." He humoured her, crawling back onto the bed and allowing her to guide his head onto her lap. She stroked his hair and repeated, "_Où vas-tu_? Isn't it too early to go anywhere?"

"I'm going out with my friends, and it's well past noon," he answered, relaxing to her gentle touch, though his voice did otherwise and switched to his usual façade, adjusting to the gentlemanly tone that others were familiar to hearing. "I gave them quite a fright yesterday. I ought to make it up to them. I'll... I'll be back soon by evening - six or seven, maybe. We can watch one of those musicals you like and have dinner together."

She smiled. "_D'accord, _that sounds wonderful." She leaned down, pecking his temple, and twittered, "_Je t'aime, Arthur_."

"I know..." was her only response. That was all she needed.

* * *

Gilbert cackled upon seeing Arthur walk into the pizzeria casually, dressed in an olive green military jacket over a white button shirt with blue jeans, and black combat boots with matching fingerless gloves and crowed, "Look who walked outta the slammer!" Arthur scowled at the sight of his supposed friend, thick brows furrowing at the mere mention of yesterday, and the blond considered turning tail until Gilbert continued with his light-hearted taunts, "I hope prison didn't change you too much, _mein _awesome _Freund_!"

Well, he couldn't turn back now. "It was hardly anything of which to be proud," Arthur remarked dryly as he joined the German albino, the French pervert, and the Spanish pillock at their table. "The constable sucked at cards. We went through about four different games, and I still won every single one of them. He was bloody annoying as well. Plus, the cell was dirty and reeked of blood, sweat, tears, and urine, and I had to sleep standing up for four hours until someone bailed me."

"Well, in our defense," Francis counted firmly, "we did ask you if you wanted one of our guardians to bail you out of the police station. _You _were the one who decided not to _bother_ us and stay."

"I know. It was one of the worst mistakes of my life," Arthur agreed wholeheartedly, "and I cock things up pretty often."

"Can't be as bad as that one time you chose to wear that ugly green sweater vest in public," Antonio pointed out as he finished off a slice of pizza. It seemed that they had already ordered without him. There was a single pizza in the middle of the table with divided in half by two toppings. One of which was Gilbert's wurst while the other was pepperoni. Arthur reached out for a slice of pepperoni pizza and nearly had his hand amputated when Antonio smacked it away to take that very slice. Arthur rolled his eyes. Brat.

"It was bad," Arthur remarked dryly, countering Carriedo's prior assumption. "Alistair had to come bail me out of jail. I didn't think they would have been able to get a hold of him - maybe Miss Jane or my landlord - anyone but him actually."

The table fell silent. As Arthur's childhood friend, Francis was familiar with the oldest Kirkland brother. He was a friendly man, but he had a temper that outmatched Arthur's and the strength of ten lions if Arthur was only one. Gilbert and Antonio, on the other hand, had only ever seen Alistair once, but they have heard stories of Alistair Kirkland and was unable to envision anyone stronger than their rival until they recalled his fierce, fiery image from almost seven years ago.

Nonetheless, the three of them were all somewhat familiar with how Alistair Kirkland had abandoned his younger brother, kicked him out of house and onto the streets one late night and early morning, as they had been in the same class once upon a time. In fact, everyone in their year was familiar with the story of how Arthur had come to school, beaten and dirtied, and how nobody dared to approach him save for the ones looking for a fight. Some were more familiar with that story than others, for Francis was there to pick up the pieces when that had happened. Unfortunately, for the young Frenchman, he was a little too late. A vast majority of the pieces was irreplaceable and was either lost or unable to be fixed. Nobody, including Francis, knew _why_ though.

"Did he do anything?" Francis asked quietly. "Did he say anything?"

"Nothing I didn't already know," Arthur responded just as softly. His face was straight, blank, and empty. His tone was just as flat. Antonio had never met anyone who could bluff as well as his rival.

"Are you okay?" Gilbert inquired tentatively. Antonio remained quiet, knowing that he couldn't assuage his rival in any way because he had little knowledge of the circumstances. All he knew was that Arthur Kirkland had problems, and this was coming from a Spaniard with numerous cousins all over the world, with whom he was familiar - sometimes _barely_ familiar - and with whom he had troubles and fights... but he never, never _ever, _had the circumstances through which Arthur and his brothers had undergone and are undergoing.

"Just a little peachy," Arthur answered stiffly. The Briton ended his sentences early because he was not sure of how to respond to Gilbert's question. Perhaps it was a bad idea to mention Alistair, but the bleeding wankers would have wanted to know how he had gotten released. They wouldn't stop until they knew how. "I feel exhausted though." It might have been because he nearly stayed up the entire night until she was satiated though rather than the whole business with the stalker and the police and Alistair. He sighed. Again, he let her have her way. "How is Chelly doing?"

"Better than before," Francis replied with a grateful smile, "that is certain. Thank you, _mon cher_."

"That is the last favour I will _ever _do for you, Frog."

"Likewise, that is the last favor I will _ever _ask of you, _Rosbif_."

The two childhood friends shared a smile, and everyone at the table knew that the exchange was complete and utter bullshit. For Francis, Arthur was like the flea on his back, the itch of which he could never rid himself; for Arthur, Francis was the old lady next door who kept nagging about the most trivial items and whom nobody liked but could never hate.

"H-Hey, bastard," stuttered an anxious voice. Heads turned to face Lovino, who was shifting his weight between his feet awkwardly and debating internally with himself about how he should stand and approach Arthur. "Y-You want something to drink?"

"Hot tea, unsweetened," Arthur answered shortly with a weak smile, unsure of how to face Lovino himself, "with a dash of milk."

Gilbert snorted. "Who orders tea at a pizza joint? That's so not awesome! Cancel that order, Vargas! Get this unawesome fool some Coke!"

"Fool?" Arthur repeated, chorusing with Francis and Antonio. They glared at each other momentarily, accusing the others of having stolen their line. "Since when have you called people 'fools'? Well, granted you used 'unawesome' as an adjective as well, which, might I mention, is not an actual word, but... It - " he cracked a smile that he quickly covered with his hand, oblivious to the fact that his reaction made his friends crack equally wide grins and that Lovino was blushing at how cute he was " - it sounds _ridiculous_!"

"Yeah? Well, who cares, you unawesome fool! I can say whatever I want because I'm just that awesome, alright? Deal with it! Get him a Coke, Vargas!"

"Would it kill you to be politer to the service?" Francis remarked dryly. "Even if it is just Antonio's Lovi, you should have more class than that, Gilbert."

"Are we at a five-star, high class restaurant or are we at a pizza joint?" Gilbert retorted. "Besides, it's 'just Antonio's Lovi.' He doesn't care. Right, Vargas?"

"Bastards, if you're going to keep talking like I'm not standing right next to you," Lovino griped, "don't drag me into your argumentative crap, alright? One Coke. Any complaints?"

"Yes, we have a _pequeño camarero gruñón _serving us," Antonio teased, pinching Lovino's cheek. The Italian swatted away his boyfriend's hand and stomped off. Arthur chuckled at the reaction while the Spaniard stared wistfully at Lovino's lower back. "He's so cute!" the taller brunet cooed, melting into and drowning in a puddle of his own sappy goo. Arthur rolled his eyes at the sight. How revolting.

"_Mais oui_," Francis responded half-heartedly, "he has a fine ass, but I cannot fathom how you could ever see past that horrendous personality of his. It reminds me of a certain someone I know." Following his last comment, he glanced at Arthur, who pointedly returned the look with a glare - though with more reasons than one.

"Lovino isn't that bad once you get to know him," Arthur remarked dryly in defence of the Italian.

"_Sí_! He is really adorable once - Hey, _diablo Inglés_! Since when were you on a first name basis with my Lovi?"

"...since we met?"

"Stop that!"

"Well, what else am I supposed to call him, Carriedo?"

"I don't know!" Antonio fumed childishly, crossing his arms and glaring indignantly at everyone else with a pout on his lips. "You have a name for everyone else! You call Francisco a frog and Gilbert... Gilbert!"

"That was a poor example, _mon ami_," Francis muttered, shaking his head and palming his face. "Honestly, I believe he calls everyone who hasn't gotten on his nerves by his or her proper name if he isn't insulting them."

"The frog has a point," Arthur confirmed, "and I have no reason to insult Lovino behind his back." Plus, it wasn't his style. He would much rather call a person an idiot, twit, git, moron, wanker, etc. in front of his or her face or in his head where nobody could hear his thoughts.

"That is aside from the point!" Antonio exclaimed.

"How?" Gilbert inquired in bewilderment. The albino scratched his head as he thought aloud, "I think they answered your question earlier. The conversation is awesomely on track."

"Well, Kirkland also calls Alfredo by his last name - "

"As much as I loathe to do it," Arthur reasoned with a daring smirk on his lips, furthering pushing Carriedo's buttons, "but using the frog's reasoning, Alfred F. Jones irritates me. Therefore, I resort to calling him by his last name whenever I must." Oh, how he enjoyed teasing this jealous prat! It serves him right for being so disgustingly affectionate with Lovino!

"What does the 'F' stand for?" Francis inquired out of the blue, swiftly ending Arthur's game with his query.

Everyone was silent. Lovino returned with Arthur's drink. "I don't know," Antonio spoke up at long last, distracted by the topic change. He then reached out to bury his face into Lovino's middle much to the latter's disdain. Arthur snorted at the public display of affection. Does the git have _any _tact or public decency? How inconceivable!

"Frederick!" Gilbert concluded boisterously, slamming the flat of his fist onto the table, shaking it once and gathering everyone's attention in the entire pizzeria. "It's got to be 'Frederick' because Frederick is an awesome name!" It is also Old Fritz's name, the albino noted to himself with a nod, and Old Fritz is an awesome old man.

"It could be 'Franklin,'" Francis pointed out after recovering from Gilbert's outburst. "I believe 'Franklin' is plausible. For instance, Benjamin Franklin is a prominent American figure, and Alfred is an American."

"Where are you gits coming up with these names?" Arthur inquired collectedly, only raising an eyebrow. "The only thing I can think of is 'Fucking' or 'Fucker.'"

"What the hell are you bastards talking about?" Lovino asked, taking a break from trying to pry Antonio's arms from around him. He glanced at Arthur and blushed when he found the latter still thinking. The blond was cute with his knitted brows and subtly pouting lips. What the hell was he thinking, looking like that? He was practically begging to be cuddled and kissed!

"Alfred Fucking Jones," Gilbert sounded out the name with a snigger at the same time Francis muttered with mild amusement and slight exasperation, "Alfred Fucker Jones." Of course, Gilbert managed to override Francis' input by crowing out, "His name is Alfred _Fucking_ Jones, get it right!" Lovino glared at the albino bastard, daring him to say more and get kicked out of the pizzeria. The other patrons gave the German a nasty glare before turning back to their business, quickly dismissing the crude behavior, however, much to Lovino's discontent.

"Lovi~" Antonio crooned, taking the smaller hand and kissing the fingers. Lovino squirmed slightly. "Do you know what Alfredo's middle name is?"

"How the fuck should I know?" Lovino snapped. "I don't even talk to that obnoxious American bastard much. Now let go, _stupido_. I have to get back to work, dammit."

"But Lo - ¡_Ay_!" Antonio glared at Arthur, who was buffing his nails on the front of his shirt and examining them, picking at a chipped nail that he couldn't remember getting. The Spaniard consequently loosened his hold on Lovino, and, given the chance, the Italian boy stepped away from his boyfriend. Then, acting like he hadn't kicked the other boy in the shin, Arthur glanced at Carriedo once the latter was quiet. As soon as he felt the other pair of green eyes upon him, the Spaniard spat at the young Englishman, "_Hijo de puta_," but the blond was as nonchalant as ever.

"Thank you for the drink, Lovino," Arthur turned to the Italian with a polite smile. While the majority of his smile was sincere and innocent in its intentions, a part of him wanted to infuriate the Spaniard sitting beside him.

"N-No problem, bastard." Before he had a chance to walk away, Arthur snatched hold of his wrist. Lovino shuddered at the cool touch, wanting nothing more but to warm Arthur's body. How could someone be this cold? It ought to be impossible. Nevertheless, the hold was effective, and Lovino stayed. "Y-Yeah?"

"Do you want to go to Chinatown later?" Arthur asked the younger boy with a shy smile - as though he was afraid to ask him - that inflamed the latter's cheeks. "Do you still get off work at four?"

"I-I do," Lovino confirmed. He wanted to die at that moment, then and there. It sounded like he was accepting a proposal. Face burning red with embarrassment, he stuttered, "I-I meant, I-I-I'll g-go to C-Chinatown with y-you, al-alright?" Calm down, you dumbass! Lovino scolded himself, wanting nothing more than to hide his face. "A-At four," he confirmed, trying to prevent any more anxiety and nervousness from making itself any more obvious. When Arthur's hold on his wrist slackened, Lovino's wrist slipped perfectly out of his grasp. Unknown to the Italian, his warmth still lingered on the tips of Arthur's fingers.

"Did you just ask my Lovi to go on a date with you?" Antonio fumed.

"No, I invited him to join us on our expedition to the far east of this city," Arthur remarked dryly. "Jia Long wants to hear my prison story, Gilbert wants to eat Kung-Pao chicken, Francis wants to pick up Asian girls, so I figured you and Lovino might want to spend a little more time together. I _can _be considerate, you know?" He began to sip continuously at his cola, ignoring the burning sensation trickling down his throat and wallowing in his chest.

* * *

At four o'clock, Lovino stripped out of his uniform and instead changed into a button shirt with a raspberry hue - it was not pink, dammit! He was only wearing it because his stupid brother bought it for him, so he was doing him a favor, not because he liked it - with a loose black tie, a pair of designer jeans, his favorite Armani boots, and a black and white striped cardigan. He folded his uniform nicely into his satchel and gingerly took out the palm-sized toy Maltese, staring into its little glossy button eyes with a light smile. If prompted about the plush, Lovino would say that it was from a friend, and he forgot to take it out of his bag... It wasn't like he started carrying it around for good luck since yesterday.

Considering how Arthur was "detained," Lovino was worried about the Briton was feeling, but the bastard didn't look any different. Rather, he seemed more concerned with how Lovino would react. Huh, he should have known the _bastardo leone _would worry about someone else than drowning in his own self-pity. After all - and, at the thought, Lovino's heart tightened in his chest - he was protecting Michelle Bonnefoy. Why would Arthur feel sorry or regret? He was a proud lion, and Lovino saw that yesterday.

Replacing the Maltese in his satchel, Lovino sauntered out of the locker and rendezvoused with the four bastards outside Pizzeria Romana. He was taken back when he felt Antonio drag him along by the hand, and the Italian was forced to stare at Arthur's back as he strolled with the albino and perverted bastards.

Antonio's hands were too big, and they swallowed his own hands, burying them with intense heat that Lovino disliked. It made him sweaty and uncomfortable, and when Antonio was feeling especially affectionate with his hugs, Lovino felt like he was suffocating under that heat and strangling within those hands. The bastard was always doing what he wanted because he thought that was what Lovino wanted - careful, gentle loving - but what Lovino wanted was to reach out for Arthur, that stupid lion bastard, because, over the months at school, he learned how to trust him. But he can't. He was afraid. Because Arthur was a lion. He could attack, bare his teeth at any moment, and Lovino knew that he was perfectly capable of doing exactly that. He's seen it more than once - at school and just yesterday.

Compared to that, Antonio was safer. He would treat Lovino with care in those large hands, like he was fragile glass, and although frustrating and exasperating, Lovino knew he would never break in Antonio's care... So how come he wasn't satisfied? He had a lover who would love him, who would care for him, and now he had a friend he could trust... But he wasn't satisfied. He knew he wasn't happy the way he is.

"I've never seen a dragon dance before," Antonio stated, breaking Lovino out of his reverie. The Italian lifted his head and found the colorful dragon in question made of golden orange and yellow hues with brightest fiery red and the deepest jade green, dancing and twirling around the street. "I don't go to Chinatown often."

"Me neither," Lovino replied shortly, looking around. Chinatown was originally a small Chinese community built on Silk Road running through the eastern side of town. Then over the years, it grew to incorporate Cao Wei Street, Shu Han Lane, and Wu Road, which also lead to the Korean District to the south side of Chinatown. Additionally, Shu Han Lane circled to form a Cul-de-Sac named Pacific Loop that was famous for its Japantown. Well, according to Jia Long and Kiku, that was how the story went. "It looks like the _bastardo leone _is familiar with the area though." Lovino's gaze lingered on Arthur, who experimentally tapped a plastic key of a small keyboard piano as the trio before them passed a - toy? - shop. Lovino stifled a smile at the heart-warming sight.

"I heard he and Yao Wang had something before," Antonio mused aloud, unaware of how the comment affected Lovino. The Italian nearly froze in his steps, suffering a momentarily lapse where he lost function, but willed himself to recover. "That's probably why."

"Him and that uptight Chinese honor student?" Lovino muttered, trying to envision the two together. "I can't see it." Plus, Arthur had claimed to have only dated girls before.

"Well, they weren't _together_," Antonio chirped with a small laugh. "They had a science project or something." The Spaniard laughed harder. "Imagine that _diablo Inglés _with Yao Wang! They would bicker like a divorced couple over Jia Long! How funny!"

Lovino narrowed his eyes at his boyfriend, half tempted to shove him into the street and let him get trampled by a dancing Chinese dragon, but said nothing. He pointedly ignored the almost painful relief flooding his veins and easing his heart and even allowed Antonio to continue holding his hand as long as everyone else - including the other citizens and tourists - was too busy looking at something else. The younger boy hadn't even noticed how he was studying Arthur's hand instead. The back and palm of his hand may have been covered by black leather, which made his pale skin stand out even more, but he could faintly see the white scars that could only be obtained through years of fighting and the faint traces of callouses, callouses only a musician could have. His fingernails were short, chipped and - Lovino stopped. Was that blood? The brunet shook his head. It could be tomato sauce from the pizza. He was exaggerating, imagining things that weren't there...

What if he did get hurt though? Lovino didn't know what happened in that jail cell... Had he been beaten? Had he beaten someone else? He was a lion, after all. What could be stronger than a lion?

Well, maybe a gun or a taser or -

Lovino stopped again. They weren't allowed to torture prisoners, and technically, Arthur wasn't a prisoner. He was only detained as a suspect. Oh, but what had happened in that cell? He wasn't sure if he really wanted to know or didn't want to know at all. Still, the bastard looked like he was having the time of his life, playing with cheap Chinese toys and studying blue and white porcelain pieces. Lovino actually lost count how many times they wandered into a store and left it with the lion bastard carrying a bunch of tea bags.

"This way, Lovi!" Antonio chirped, pulling Lovino into some local Chinese restaurant, where they met with the student council president at the front. They were immediately seated at a table in the farthest and darkest corner, and before Lovino could ask why, he could see Yao Wang blatantly glare at Arthur. The Briton retorted by shrugging off his jacket and loosening the collar of his shirt, hinting at the Tudor rose inked on his chest. The Chinese young man scowled deeply. The scene reminded Lovino of some mobster movie he had watched with his family one night, but the Italian dismissed the notion just as quickly as Yao Wang excused himself.

"What was that supposed to mean, bastard?" Lovino asked, taking a seat directly across from Arthur. "Are we eating here? You bastards just ate an entire pizza though!"

The blond gave Lovino a courteous smile, and Lovino didn't like it. He was being distant again. "You didn't eat though," Arthur pointed out kindly as he handed Lovino a menu. The Italian picked it from the blond's hand gingerly as though it would dissolve at his mere touch. "And, answering your earlier question, Wang knows that Jia Long thought about getting a chrysanthemum inked on his chest like my rose," Arthur explained sheepishly. "The bloody prat thinks it's my influence."

"It is, _mon cher_," Francis remarked sullenly, "which is why we get this kind of treatment."

"You gits brought this onto yourselves for being noisy every blooming time we go here," Arthur retorted. "Don't blame only me for this!"

"You've been here before?" Lovino questioned. He didn't like the sound of that, but to be fair, the other bastards had known Arthur longer than he did... Still, Arthur never took him out anywhere. Well, maybe it would have helped if they exchanged numbers... Lovino didn't have his cell phone number. He didn't have any number aside from that of his apartment suite. Damn!

"_Ja_, we had a science project last year that needed to demonstrate the flow of electricity. The teacher told us that we had to work in a group of five, so it was the awesome me, Artie, Franny, Wang, and Kiku," Gilbert chirped. "We tried making a potato clock."

Lovino snorted at the thought. Of course the older brother of the potato head would want to make a potato clock. "Isn't that the most cliché thing to do?" he remarked dryly as he flicked through the pages of the menu. The Kung-Pao chicken sounded good. "Doesn't it almost never work in the movies?"

"That's why we did it," Arthur mused. "It would have been funny if it did work and prove all the wankers wrong."

"And it did," Francis added. "We had it look like a salad, set it up with a table cloth and drinks, the works!"

"Did it actually work, bastards, or are you just shitting me?" Lovino asked skeptically. What was the difference between Chow Mein and Lo Mein? Was there a difference? Well, there had to be if they had different names...

"Of course it did!" Gilbert boasted with a hearty "Kesesese!" laugh. "The awesome me contributed, after all!"

"Whatever, bastards," Lovino grumbled. "I'll just take your word for it." Huh, a potato clock. Whatever.

"Ready to order, you idiots?" Yao mumbled under his breath as he approached them again.

Everyone turned to look at Lovino, who flushed under the pressure. "Why are you looking at me, dammit?!" he squealed and tried hiding behind the menu, effectively making Arthur chuckle in amusement. In the meanwhile, Antonio was trying to explain how ordering at the Wang's restaurant worked. They would order whatever dishes they want, which would be placed on the turntable, and from there, they would put whatever they want to eat on their own plates. After that half-assed explanation, Lovino simply ordered Kung-Pao chicken, stir-fried vegetables, steamed dumplings, the house special fried rice, and Lo Mein (because Chow Mein sounded suspiciously American). Everyone also gave their input on drinks and sent Yao to the kitchen. "So who's paying?"

At this, Francis, Gilbert, and Antonio turned to face Arthur. The blond raised a lazy eyebrow. "What?" the Briton remarked idly. "I thought we were doing a dine-and-dash on Wang."

"Chigi!" Lovino shrieked. As much as he enjoyed a free meal, he didn't want to _steal_. After being witness to the police in action, the Italian adamantly wanted to avoid any illegal activities as much as possible.

"Calm yourself, Lovino," Arthur assured with a playful smirk. "I was only teasing. We'll cover the payment when we get to the bill." The Bad Friends Trio gulped in anxiety, but Arthur paid them no mind. His attention seemed to be somewhere else, and that was when Lovino noticed that his electric eyes were dim and downcast, focusing on something below the table - oh, he was texting someone.

When Lovino managed to pull his eyes away and glance around the table, he noticed that neither Francis nor Gilbert seemed to notice, but if they had, then they didn't seem to mind. Antonio was as oblivious as ever. In an instant, Lovino's eyes lingered on Arthur, wondering just what could have made the green of his eyes darker, seemingly more grim, before he caught sight of a bitter smile on his lips for the faintest moment, a fraction of a second. Lovino felt his heart plummet because he saw, in that faintest moment, in that fraction of a second, a trace of tenderness, love, and care.

It must have been Michelle. They appeared to be dating after all, and Arthur had cared enough for her to deal with her stalker himself - or so Francis had explained, and... and Lovino had a boyfriend anyway, so what did it matter if Arthur was in love with someone else? So what did it matter - ?

The sound of French a cappella broke the silence in the restaurant, the female singer's voice silky and smooth like honey, flowing beautifully and rolling fluidly, seductive and sexy. The Bad Friends Trio was no longer counting how much money they had in their wallets and eagerly searched for the source of the noise. The sudden interruption had Lovino recoiling in shock, but when he saw how Arthur was trying to hide his reddening face, the Italian could feel his heart break. It was for him. The song was for _him_. A sexy little French girl was trying to seduce him, Arthur Kirkland, the Rampant Lion of England. There was someone who had him wrapped around her finger.

..._was _it Michelle? Lovino asked himself forlornly. It didn't quite sound like Michelle.

"My apologies," Arthur mumbled as he answered his phone and escaped the restaurant.

"_Rosbif_, was that someone singing '_La Vie en Rose_'_ par _Edith Piaf? Is that _your ringtone_?" Francis' questions were left unanswered in favor of rushing out of the restaurant to get some privacy.

"'ello?" Arthur whispered into his phone. "_Pourquoi m'as-tu téléphoné -_ ?" The blond disappeared out the doors of the restaurant, and all Lovino could do was clench his fists as the rage boiled within his body, eroding his vessels like violent surges of tidal waves and burning his body from the inside out. He understands French. He knows French. He learned for that French girl - for Michelle Bonnefoy who sang to him in French - and spoke French.

How much could he not know about the stupid blond bastard? He didn't know that Arthur rode a motorcycle. He didn't know that Arthur lived in a penthouse suite. He didn't know that Arthur had a cat and a dog named Elizabeth and Winston. He didn't know that Arthur played music. He didn't know that Arthur had problems with his family and was disowned. He didn't know that Arthur spoke French _fluently_. He probably whispered sweet French nothings to that perfect French schoolgirl, Michelle Bonnefoy, at night while they cuddled up to some stupid American Hollywood pirate movie eating mint ice cream.

He wasn't jealous. Of course not. That was irrational. Why would he be jealous of Arthur? That was ridiculous and stupid and everything but sensible. If he had to be jealous of anyone, it would have to be that silly French lover of his! Really, Italians could make better lovers than the French! Better cooks, too! They didn't eat snails! If it was Lovino, then he would -

...oh... _Oh_.

He glanced at a perfectly oblivious Antonio.

This was not good.

On the other side of the restaurant, Jia Long stopped one of their employees - a Chinese girl named Cindy who was born in London though her family moved to Hetalia when she was barely five - from delivering the drinks to table six, otherwise known as the table reserved for a certain group of troublemakers in the farthest back corner of the restaurant, and took the tray from her, explaining that she was in charge of table twelve now. The Chinese-born-Briton nodded dumbly, not sure of what to do, but followed the orders of her boss' son nevertheless.

Cindy was a new employee, so Jia Long simply took advantage of the fact that she did not know he pulled harmless pranks around the restaurant. He didn't really feel bad about it since no harm was done. Cindy would still get paid, his parents would still do business, and he would get what he want. Jia Long glanced at the drinks - a lemon soda (no doubt Francis'), iced milk tea (huh, wonder whose? Jia Long thought wryly), and three Cokes. Jia Long quickly emptied the lemon soda and refilled it with water before strolling out of the kitchen with his usual indifferent expression.

"Hey, Jia Long!" Gilbert greeted him in his usual loud and noisy manner. The Chinese boy gave him a curt nod and returned to setting the drinks onto the turntable.

"Where's Arthur-_g__ēgē_?" Jia Long inquired as he glanced around, setting Cokes on the turntable first before reaching for the milk tea. He made sure that they had prepared it especially with Jasmine tea instead of Arthur's beloved black tea. Today would be the day that he would have the blond convert from Earl Grey, English Breakfast and Afternoon, and Masala Chai to Jasmine and Oolong! ...or not. He didn't actually care that much; Jia Long only wanted to see his face when he saw that they used the "wrong" tea leaves.

"He's taking a phone call," Francis replied.

At this, Jia Long glanced at Lovino and found that the older Italian boy was strangely quiet. Antonio seemed to label it as hunger though, but Jia Long had a feeling that - if the Italian was really hungry - Lovino Vargas would be rowdier than ever. Ah, whatever. He just needed to get the stupid Italian idiot alone without looking out of character, so when he reached to set the milk tea where Arthur, supposedly, was sitting, he brushed his arm against the rim of the glass of water and spilt it across Lovino's lap, making the older brunet cry out ("_Merda_!") in shock of both the coldness and the fact that he was now soaking wet.

"Oops," Jia Long said - short, to the point, and completely in character. Heads turned, but Jia Long paid it no attention unlike the fuming red Lovino. The employees who had worked there longer gave Jia Long a weary eye, knowing that he was more mischievous than he looked and not nearly as clumsy to have dumped water on a guest. Jia Long dropped a cloth napkin onto Lovino's lap and whispered lowly, "We have, like, a residential floor up top. Follow me to my room. I've got pants you can, like, borrow or whatever."

Lovino nodded stiffly and got up, making sure to stay behind Jia Long to avoid others from seeing the wet patch on his leg. He followed the Chinese boy into the kitchen and watched, distracted, as the chefs expertly prepared the food. A part of him yearned to reach for equipment as well. If he could cook, he could forget all of the terrible shit that's happened today, totally and entirely focused on the meal at hand. He wondered if he could just go home.

At the back of the kitchen was a flight of stairs leading to the residential floor Jia Long mentioned. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, saying, "I know you like Arthur-_g__ēgē_."

Lovino froze.

"_C-Che cazzo stai dicendo_?!" he blurted out in all of his nervousness. The Italian quickly corrected himself and translated into English, all vulgarity included, "W-What the fuck are you saying?!"

"I'm saying," Jia Long sighed and pulled Lovino by the sleeve of his cardigan, dragging him across the living room floor and into a bedroom on the first right of the corridor, "you either get your shit together or leave. Right now. I'm not fucking around."

Well, no shit, Lovino thought to himself as he tried to gather his wits. The bastard hadn't said 'like' or 'whatever' in any of his sentences. Plus, he was cursing and swearing more than Lovino has ever heard him speak. He watched as Jia Long dug around his drawers. The Chinese boy then threw a pair of white sweatpants at him.

"Arthur-_g__ēgē_ doesn't need any more crap, alright?" Jia Long snapped. "You either dump your Spanish boyfriend or dump Arthur-_g__ēgē_. Hurry up and choose."

"Look, I'm not dumping anyone here, bastard," Lovino snapped, growing more and more furious. "Even if I break up with the tomato bastard, even if I like Arthur, even if what you're saying is all true, you're forgetting one pretty big-as-fuck detail: there's someone else in his life, and it sure as hell isn't me."

Jia Long narrowed his eyes at the Italian. "That's it?"

"What the fuck do you mean 'that's it'?"

"You're not even going to try?"

"The fuck does it matter if I try?!" Lovino shrilled. "Have you seen the look on his face?! I've never seen him look like that before! I've never seen him _act_ like that before! What the fuck can I do?! I've already lost, dammit! Now fuck off!"

"You're the one in my room. Get the fuck out if you don't want to see my face," Jia Long snapped. "You're a huge moron if you think that's love! I've never seen someone more tortured in my life! To think you could have actually done something! I'm probably the bigger idiot for believing in you for a minute. You don't love him then..."

"What the hell is wrong with Michelle?" Lovino remarked though his voice lost its sharp edge. "She's pretty and nice. She can deal with him, too. She's a good girl; you can't see that?"

The Chinese boy was silent. Then Jia Long snorted. Lovino glared at him. "So that's what you thought," he muttered. "You're, like, more of a dumbass than I thought."

"What the fucking hell are you talking about now?"

"Nah, I've, like, meddled enough," Jia Long remarked dryly. "If you, like, want to know what I'm talking about or whatever, figure it out yourself. I'm done... But if you fuck with Arthur, then I'll kill you. He's the closest thing I have to a brother, and I'm not risking losing him again. Your pants dry fast, by the way."

With that, Jia Long left Lovino alone in the room. The Italian glanced down at his jeans. They were still damp, but it was less noticeable than before. The Italian gritted his teeth and followed Jia Long down the stairs and to the table. He sat down and, across from him, the spot was still empty. The military coat hung off the back of the chair.

"He's not back yet?" Lovino asked the others.

"He has a date at six," Francis explained sullenly. Gilbert chewed a piece of chicken in a melancholy manner, poking idly at a dumpling. "He forgot his coat and tea."

"So not awesome," Gilbert moaned. "We barely managed to pay for this meal."

"I'll take it to him," Jia Long spoke up brazenly. Everyone gave him a glance and a nod. They didn't care if he was behaving out of character or not. Lovino didn't like that monotone stare Jia Long gave him though, so he stood up and snatched the coat and the bags of tea bags from Arthur's abandoned seat, marching down Silk Road and allowing his feet to carry him to the familiar apartment complex.

He crossed the lobby, where _Signorina_ Jane gave him a strained smile. "Good evening, Lovino!" she greeted him. Her voice didn't seem as vibrant, but Lovino hardly noticed. "Are you looking for Arthur?" He didn't even notice that for the first time she spoke Arthur's given name to the Italian instead of using his surname as per usual.

"Is he in?"

"He is - "

Lovino didn't let her finish. Instead, he boarded the elevator and found himself, five minutes later, standing in front of Arthur's door and knocking. He recalled the first time he delivered to the bastard. He thought that Arthur had some beautiful girl over with - with golden brown hair and deep blue-violet eyes - not... not Michelle Bonnefoy.

"Good evening," the golden haired beauty greeted him, amusement sparkling in her blue-violet eyes, dressed in one of Arthur's t-shirts that barely covered her thighs. Lovino could feel his jaw going slack, and he fought to keep it from dropping. She was older than him, for sure, older than Arthur. Maybe she was his sister? She was definitely not old enough to be his mother! She didn't speak with an accent though, not one that he could easily place and not one like Arthur's. Had Arthur mentioned that he had a sister? He almost never talked about his family though. Lovino only knew that he had brothers. "How may I help you?"

"I - er - " Lovino dropped his gaze shyly, unable to muster his usual charm " - A-Arthur forgot his stuff at the restaurant."

She sighed and gently took the items from Lovino's hands, thanking him with a smile. Lovino caught sight of a red-purple bruise on her neck. "That boy can't take care of himself at all," she twittered. He recognized her voice then. It was the same one that sang "_La Vie en Rose_" a cappella at the restaurant. He also faintly smelt something that made him sick to his stomach. It reminded him of the times when his grandfather would return home late at night without bothering to shower.

Sex. She smelt of _sex_.

"Marianne?" Arthur's voice rang through the apartment, tired and exhausted, his accent thick and heavy. Lovino backed away. "Who's at da door?"

"_Addio_!" Lovino muttered under his breath, scrambling for the elevator.

He faintly heard her reply, "_Ce n'est personne, chéri_!"

That person couldn't have been a sister or a mother, and she was definitely not Michelle Bonnefoy.

Who was she then?

"Oh, darling," _Signorina_ Jane tutted as soon as the elevator doors parted. Lovino was on his knees, unable to support his weight, as tears spilled from his eyes. One hand was stretched across his torso, wrapping his arm across his front, trying to keep himself from falling apart, holding tightly onto his side, while the other hand covered his eyes to prevent the tears from falling onto the marble tiles.

"_Farlo smettere, farlo smettere, farlo smettere, si prega di farlo smettere_!" he whispered to himself.

He was in love with Arthur Kirkland, dammit.

* * *

**A/N: **Just a few notes if anyone cares enough -

The streets/roads in Chinatown (Cao Wei, Shu Han, Wu) alludes to the_ Romance of the Three Kingdoms._

Lo mein is tossed noodles, and chao mein is is fried noodles. "Chow mein" comes from the English language butchering/corruption of the Chinese language, and it is highly popular in both the US and Great Britain.

_Marianne_ - a national symbol of France representing the Goddess of Liberty, and one of the human names of nyo!France. She's one of my favorite characters in this story, and the one who made it exceptionally long. This chapter is probably the longest one in the entire story.


	13. Chapter 13 - Abandoned

**Chapter Thirteen: The Damned and Abandoned**

August.

"Fancy meeting you here," mumbled a tired and exhausted Briton. The peaked police hat rested over his eyes, shielding them from the sunlight, while his back laid atop the flat surface of the rooftop. Anyway, Lovino was rather thankful the hat was there. If Arthur had removed it from covering his eyes, Lovino would have been subject to an accusatory stare. For the remaining of summer, the brunet had avoided seeing Arthur in favor of going on dates with Antonio. They only ever saw each other while Lovino was working. Now, once again, his voice took on that distant, polite tone. Lovino was once more speaking with a stranger. "I didn't think you would show."

"I..." Lovino stopped. What could he say? He didn't know what to say. He had nothing to say. That he was afraid? Then Arthur would ask of what he had to be afraid and then why and how and it would just turn into a conversation Lovino didn't want to have. "I-I..."

"'I'?" Arthur repeated bitterly. "What about you? You still avoiding Carriedo? I thought you were getting all lovey-dovey with him over the summer. You can't _possibly_ be having problems with him now."

"Dammit!" Lovino cried, cheeks flaring. His outburst didn't make Arthur flinch. Of course it didn't, Lovino thought bitterly. He was nothing more than a child throwing a tantrum at this rate. Arthur has surely dealt with worse. "Would you just listen to me?"

"I haven't said anything yet," Arthur retorted calmly, coolly, collectedly. Lovino shivered even though it was still swelteringly hot outside. His eyes lingered on Arthur's uniform variant. He wasn't wearing his dark sweater - the one with the checked pattern - and his gloves were resting on his abdomen. His boots stretched to his knees, and his legs were crossed. He traded his gray shirt for a white shirt, leaving the first few buttons undone and rolling the sleeves up to his elbows, and his black tie was loosened, giving Lovino a view of his pale chest and a peek of that Tudor rose of his. "You can say whatever you want. I won't interrupt you though I can't promise that I would hear you - selective hearing and all."

Lovino pursed his lips. "Are you willing to listen to me?"

"Whether I am willing to listen or not doesn't matter, does it?" was the blunt remark, stabbing at Lovino's chest and staining him with guilt. "It's how I react with which you ought to concern yourself."

"G-Goddammit," he muttered, kicking the scuff of his shoes before approaching Arthur. He had never hated to the point of loathing the blond's cryptic language so much until now. He dropped off the small lunch box near Arthur's ear to make sure that the blond heard the thud of plastic against the roof tiles. "I made you lunch, bastard."

"Oh?"

"It's that bread you liked so much," Lovino mumbled, "and some cold pasta salad. I thought you wouldn't eat unless someone made you, and the French bastard doesn't even know you're up here, does he? Anyway, I bought the box thing in Japantown when my _fratellino _went to visit that Honda bastard. He said it was a lunch box, a-a _bentou_ or something, whatever. It's yours." It wasn't quite what he wanted to say, but he hoped Arthur had gotten the message. Lovino wanted to reconcile with him.

"How are things going with Carriedo?"

"Why do you always ask about him?" Lovino retorted, feeling somewhat brash and bold but also exasperated and vexed. "Why does it always have to be about me and him? _We're_ the ones on this roof together. Can't we talk about ourselves for once?"

"'cause _yer _da one datin' 'im," Arthur snapped, sitting upright, pulling the cap off his eyes to reveal electrifying green eyes flickering dangerously like a lightning storm, breaking into his deeper accent, and shocking Lovino entirely. "If yew 'aven't noticed, I'm not da 'ighest person on 'is list," the blond continued relentlessly, "an' I daan't need ter make him angry at me 'cause 'e's a bloody pain in da arse when 'e's _pissed off_. Do yew kna 'ow much _shit '_e put me through just fer calling yew by yaahr name?"

"_C-Che cazzo dici, bastardo_?"

"Right," Arthur mumbled, calming himself down, "_I'm _the bastard. I'll have you know that I tried getting in contact with you, but you avoided me like the plague. Why?" He turned his eyes towards Lovino, and suddenly Lovino was staring into watery sea green. The waves of aquatic green rolled as though daring to spill from his eyes, yet they were calm still. "Did I do something wrong?"

Lovino recalled the golden haired beauty with blue-violet eyes. His jaw clenched, and his heart tightened. Still, he shook his head.

"Did... Did something happen between you and Carriedo?" Arthur inquired innocently, his green eyes flitting away from Lovino nervously.

"Stop talking about him already," Lovino griped, sitting down besides Arthur. It was a familiar sensation that comforted him. Six weeks had passed without them meeting on the rooftop simply to talk, and Lovino was happy to resume such routines. Antonio wasn't here to pester him or Arthur, and that mysterious woman wasn't here either. This was their Xanadu, their paradise, their safe haven, their sanctuary, their secret garden, their sacred grounds; this should be about _them_. Was that too much to ask for? "We're fine," Lovino snapped in mild irritation. "The stupid tomato bastard would never hurt me."

"That's good," Arthur mused - albeit somewhat bitterly. "I worry that he would smother you to death one day with his hugs though."

He was beginning to loosen up. That was good.

"Still, why... why the sudden..." Arthur stumbled over his words. His brows furrowed together as he scoured his expansive vocabulary and his grammatical wellspring for the right sentences. "Why did you leave me?" Well, shit, the blond cursed himself. No need to sound like a kicked puppy. "I mean, it's perfectly understandable if you want to go on dates with Carriedo, but you completely avoided me the last few weeks of summer vacation."

Lovino winced. That was the one question he didn't want to answer. Why _did_ he avoid Arthur? The answer was easy and quite simple: he didn't want to get hurt. He thought Arthur had Michelle, and maybe the two of them were going out. Then there was the blonde haired woman from the other day, and he didn't know what their relationship was like either. They definitely were not simply _friends_. Arthur was complex and mysterious; Lovino knew close to nothing about him. It drove him crazy. The worst part was that he was scared to get to know him, but still he wanted to know more about him. It forced him out of his comfort zone and into the unknown, and Lovino was not one for exploring new frontiers. Arthur was a lion; moreover, he was the Rampant Lion of England. Everyone knows that lions are, without a doubt, dangerous. Arthur was hardly any exception.

"I... I don't do anything that isn't safe," Lovino muttered under his breath, fiddling with the hem of his white button shirt. With the summer weather still sweeping the island, the school had changed to their summer uniform. For the boys, the only noticeable differences were the short sleeves of the shirts and the jumpers instead of the sweaters. Naturally, Arthur was not in regular uniform as per usual. Nothing about Arthur was normal, actually. "Dating the tomato bastard is safe because... because he'll never hurt me. Being around you... is frightening."

All was still. All was silent. The Lion gingerly picked up the lunch box and lifted the lid, smiling when he saw that Lovino hadn't lied when he said he prepared the cheese-and-herb bread. The Lion then ripped a part of it off with his incisors, and when Lovino stole a glimpse, he couldn't help but compare it to having seen flesh being torn. His cheeks reddened, and he turned his head away. He didn't want to be caught not only staring but also admiring the older boy. Ever since summer, he couldn't tear his eyes away from him, and Lovino was both ashamed and afraid of that.

On the other hand, Arthur contemplated Lovino's words, musing to himself that, if events were continue as they are, he would only become the ruin of Lovino's relationship. He had soiled his relations with Yao Wang. He had soiled his relations with his brothers. There was no doubt in his mind that he would soil both the relations between Lovino and Carriedo. That was the last thing he wanted - destroying Lovino's happiness and comfort.

"Right," Arthur responded shortly, arriving at a resolute conclusion. "That's probably why you should stay away from me from now on."

Lovino's eyes widened, filling with tears, as he cried, "That's not what I meant!"

Arthur closed the lid on the lunch box and returned it to Lovino, dropping it onto his lap, remarking, "The bread was delicious. Thanks for the meal." The blond stood onto his feet and marched to the door. Meanwhile, a thousand thoughts were rushing back and forth through Lovino's head. What was happening? Was this really happening? Why was this happening? Just as soon as Arthur passed him, Lovino snatched his wrist and held him in place. The thundering footsteps ceased.

"I don't get it," Lovino told him, voice cracking and breaking and falling apart, mumbling under his breath, slurring his words together.

"You don't have to understand," Arthur muttered lowly, his voice sending chills down Lovino's spine unlike any other time. This time, the brunet was truly terrified not for his own sake, but for theirs. What did this mean for them? Did this mean Lovino couldn't see him anymore? They couldn't meet anymore? The Briton pulled his wrist away and, with that same hand, grasped the doorknob. The blond paused, and his lips parted. Lovino was hopeful. "Remember to lock up when you leave." And then he was crushed.

The door opened, and Arthur refrained from glancing behind him. He left Lovino alone to himself. When the door closed shut, Lovino broke. Tears streamed down his cheeks, yet naught a single sound escaped his lips. With trembling hands, he opened the lid of the bentou box and found that the lunch was still unfinished. Droplets fell from above, falling into the box, but Lovino reached for a piece of bitten bread, forcing himself to chew on it. It wasn't his fault if Arthur was hungry later. He was the one who left a perfectly good lunch behind, dammit. Funny, the bread tasted differently last night. He wondered why.

"It's fucking salty."

The day after that, Arthur wasn't on the rooftop, but even if he was, the door was locked. Students were prohibited from entering the rooftop. Lovino was no exception. Arthur never came back, and Lovino never saw him again. This kind of relationship lasted for another three weeks.

* * *

Jia Long glared at him when they passed each other in the hall, but nobody else seemed to notice. Perhaps it was because Lovino had been on edge since Arthur had abandoned him. "You know," Jia Long spoke up, even-leveled and flat-toned, his voice carrying down the hall, "you can't change anything if you don't even do anything in the first place." Even though the Chinese boy wasn't facing him and even though he hadn't addressed him, Lovino knew the statement was directed to him.

"What's that?" his Icelandic friend remarked dryly. "Something new you're going to write in your restaurant's fortune cookies? Whatever happened to the messages like 'Your lover will break up with you' and 'A curse shall be placed upon your family for generations to come' or 'Good fortune will come to you in the form of four wheels'? Turning a new leaf, Jia Long?"

"Eh, Yao, like, found out that I was writing that kind of garbage," Jia Long responded casually. "Like, want to grab some lunch from the girls in home ec.?"

"Yeah, sure," Emil agreed nonchalantly, walking side-by-side with his Chinese counterpart. Lovino bit his tongue from spitting out something that he would regret, picking a fight with strength he didn't have. Instead, the Italian boy hurried to the vending machine and jammed his coins into the slot, pressing the buttons for his can of espresso, Feliciano's box of orange juice, and the potato head's bottle of water. Over the last three weeks, he had been eating lunch with his brother, just as Feliciano had wanted at the beginning of the school year, and Antonio and Ludwig. He was long used to the rowdiness of his company and the bustling in the classroom, yet he yearned for the tranquility of the rooftop.

After placing the three drinks in his arm, he ended up buying drinks that Michelle, Émilie, Manon, Feliks, Toris, and some other bastards of whom he couldn't remember the names - or faces - wanted as well. He was lucky that the Asian kids in his class didn't bother him with their demands. Of course, they didn't help him either. Whatever. Not like it mattered. Apparently, when someone walks out of the door to buy drinks for his little brother and his little brother's evil friend, it meant that he would be the gopher for the day.

Cursing his luck, Lovino tried to juggle the multitude of drinks in his arms, but he let out a not-so-manly yelp of surprise when his can of espresso rolled from his hold and nearly disappeared down the stairs until a boot stopped it from descending. Lovino sighed in relief and muttered, "_Grazi_," under his breath. The weight that lifted from his shoulders suddenly crashed onto him with ten times more force as he found himself staring into solid green eyes - dull, dark, and dim. His lips parted to speak the name of the person he had been dying to see, but no words came out. He was too stunned to speak.

"Here," Arthur murmured softly, taking about half of the cans - looked like more though from the Italian's perspective - from Lovino and lessening his load. "Your classroom is 2-A, right?"

The Italian nodded dumbly and kept his gaze downcast as he tried to follow the sound of Arthur's heavy footsteps. They seemed louder than usual, but he doubted Arthur had gained any weight. The bastard always got a work out from fighting someone. He looked slightly thinner than before though. Lovino wondered if Arthur had eaten lunch since then. He couldn't have lost that much weight if he had only skipped lunch though... Right? He only skipped lunch and only lunch, right? Could you lose weight in three weeks by skipping one meal?

"Chin up, lad," Arthur told him sternly. Unlike the other times when Arthur had spoke to him, he was incredibly distant now. "You'll crash into something if you don't look up." When Lovino lifted his head, he discovered that Arthur was well ahead of him. Picking up his pace, Lovino nearly tripped over the toe of his shoes, but Arthur was quick to react and pulled Lovino back onto his feet by the wrist. There was a smirk on his lips, and Lovino missed how his heart had skipped a beat, too captivated by the hidden liveliness masked by sarcasm. "Clumsy as ever, I see," he teased.

"S-S-Shut up, dammit," Lovino mumbled, cheeks aflame. Arthur gave him a succinct smile, happy to see that his little ankle-biter hadn't lost his bark. "Keep moving, bastard."

"Keep up, will you?" Arthur returned lightly, and as soon as he pivoted on his heel, the stiff remains of silence picked itself from the floor, rebuilding itself as a wall between the two of them. Lovino wanted to break it, this awkward silence, but he didn't know how. His words were hitched in his throat, and his thoughts swirled like a dark storm cloud. "Here we are."

Already? Wasn't that too fast? Well, then again, the vending machine wasn't that far away from the classroom. It was kind of embarrassing to have to be helped by someone else if that was the case, but still - "T-Thanks, bastard" - it was only manners. Arthur followed Lovino into the classroom, placing the drinks on top of the three desks that were grouped together were Feliciano and Ludwig were sitting. The younger Vargas noticeably tensed at the sight of the Lion, turning his eyes away from the older blond, muttering a shy "_Grazi_" as soon as he got his orange juice. Feliciano hadn't seen Arthur since the day he had been detained by the policemen for the stalker incident. Arthur didn't blame him for being scared; if he was someone else who had witnessed his rampage, he would have been frightened half to death as well.

That was when Lovino noticed that the room had silenced immediately once Arthur entered the room. He knew that only a fairly small number of second years were friendly with the blond - Michelle and Émilie, namely - but he hadn't even bothered to imagine the fear and terror that struck their faces. They stared at Arthur as though someone had released a ferocious animal within their classroom, paralyzed with fear, but the blond paid them no mind. He only returned the greeting the Bonnefoy girls gave him as well as the others who had appeared at Jia Long's beach party with a nod of acknowledgement before leaving.

A crushing sigh of relief flooded the classroom, and a silent fury welled with the brunet. Arthur was not a bad person, so why did they have to give him shit? Even his own brother! At the mere though, Lovino glared at Feliciano, who was still cowering behind Ludwig. "F-_Fratello_?" he squeaked.

"What the hell was with that attitude?!" Lovino admonished the younger Vargas. Nobody paid him any attention. They were used to the Vargas' antics. "He brought you your drink when he didn't even have to, dammit!"

"Ve, but he's actually really scary!"

"Chigi! You weren't that scared of him during summer break when you gushed over his fucking tattoos!"

"That was different!" Feliciano whined, fidgeting uncomfortably under Lovino's stare. "He wasn't fighting anyone at the party, and he was really nice! B-B-But then, ve, that one time at the ice cream shop, h-he beat up a man and got arrested!"

Ludwig raised an eyebrow. "He was arrested?" the German repeated dubiously.

"_Sì_!" Feliciano answered shortly while nodding his head furiously.

"I thought he was a respectable man - "

"And he is!" Lovino argued, throwing the potato head's water bottle at him. Ludwig easily caught the beverage much to Lovino's disappointment. "He wasn't _arrested_! He was _detained _as a suspect!" It might not have sounded better because the alternative explanation sounded just as bad to Lovino as it did to Ludwig and Feliciano, but the brunet had to try to make a point. The older Vargas continued on his tangent, "He's not a bad person! He's just - " what? Lovino scoured his limited vocabulary for a word that Ludwig would understand. Misunderstood? No, that wasn't just it. It wasn't that simple. There was more to it than people taking rumors for granted. " - he doesn't - " This was harder than he thought. " - dammit - " Lovino had wanted to say that Arthur didn't think for himself, but that wouldn't come out right. " - He's a fucking selfless bastard!" All of those times he's helped others, Lovino has lost count. Arthur has only ever helped other people. He has never once thought about himself.

And that was when Lovino stopped.

Arthur has never once thought about himself.

So who was he thinking about now?

Arthur has never once thought about himself.

So was he actually really lonely?

He didn't want to leave Lovino? Then why did he propose that? Why did he start worrying about Antonio? Why did Arthur avoid him?

Did it hurt the Briton this much when Lovino evaded Arthur's presence over the summer?

And that was when Ludwig spoke up, "Since when did you think this way?" Ludwig would never address him as Lovino since the latter would flip tables in sheer rage and fury if he did. The older twin claimed that Ludwig butchered his name when speaking it, and since Feliciano was also a Vargas, Ludwig couldn't call Lovino "Vargas" either - though Gilbert had no qualms doing it to Lovino. Elaborating his point, Ludwig made sure to mention, "Not too long ago, you thought of Arthur Kirkland as nothing more than a violent monster who terrorized kids under their beds in the middle of the night. I've never seen you interact with him until the beach party at the start of summer, and that was only for a few minutes."

Fuck, Lovino didn't want to admit that the potato eater was right, and he wouldn't - not out loud, at least. He still had a point though. Stupid evil potato persuasive powers.

Three, maybe four, months ago, the brunet avoided Arthur Kirkland the Rampant Lion of England like the plague. Now that he thought about it, Lovino cursed himself, he had avoided him then just like how he tried to stop seeing him over the summer. Like how Lovino's classmates had inched away from him. No wonder Arthur thought it would be better for them not to see each other. He... He thought that he had scared - or maybe still stared - Lovino. While Arthur was still the same two-faced bastard, he had actually made an effort to venture out of his comfort zone, admitting to Lovino facts about his past that seemed rarely uttered. Lovino, on the other hand, hadn't changed at all. The two of them had only gotten to know each other, but the Italian hadn't even managed a good job at that. He was still cowardly and useless, too afraid to face his own problems, resorting to tactics such as retreating and hiding in the shadows, waiting for something to happen.

However, nothing would happen if he didn't do anything.

Stupid fucking Jia Long Wang.

"Arthur Kirkland is a violent bastard who loves a good fight," Lovino stated slowly, confirming Ludwig's statement from earlier, "but he always has a reason for every little thing he does - even if it's a shit reason - and every little single fucking thing he does... It's always for someone else. He's... He _tries_ to be a gentleman. He listens to you, and he doesn't really talk much when he does... But when you get him talking, you can't get him to shut up." Lovino didn't seem to notice he was smiling now. "He's a freak about symbolism and allusion and all this mysterious, mystic shit. I think that's why his pets have weird names for just pets - not like the weird but normal names like Sparky or Spot or whatever, but actual names - Elizabeth and Winston. He also might be at the top of his class, but I swear ninety-nine percent of that is memorization. The bastard memorized the Beatles lyrics like it's his fucking Bible, and he can recite Shakespeare word for word. It's weird as hell. I don't believe that he's as smart as people think he is. He can't get a clue about how I - " Lovino stopped, blushing. What was he doing? What was he thinking? " - ugh, forget it."

A worried frown overwhelmed Feliciano's lips with concern glossing over his coppery brown eyes, but Ludwig was as confused as ever. What was the point of Lovino's rambling? Well, that was why they called it rambling, he guessed. Suddenly, Feliciano threw himself onto his older brother, squealing with tears running down his face, slurring his words to the point where it was incomprehensible, "_Fratello! Non farlo! Non va bene! Non va bene a tutti, ve_!" Lovino responded by trying to pry his brother's arms from around him, screeching, "Chigi!" Ludwig blinked and shook his head, thinking, Italians.

"Hey, you guys!" Antonio poked his head into the classroom, late as usual, and pulled up a chair next to Lovino. "¿_Qué pasa_? You look lively as usual!"

Lovino grunted something inaudible under his breath. Everyone leaned closer to hear him. The Italian grunted louder. Still, the words were nonsensical sounds barely crawling out of his throat.

"What did you say, Lovi?" Antonio chirped.

"Teach me how to write a challenge letter, you stupid tomato bastard!" Lovino snapped, indignant and infuriated, while glaring daggers at the surface of his desk and trying to hide the redness of his face with his hair. Everyone recoiled from pure and utter shock at the demand.

"¿_Por qué_?" Antonio inquired at the same time as Feliciano's, "_Fratello_?!"

"You're used to writing them, aren't you?!" Lovino reasoned. "Show me how to write one, bastard!"

* * *

"But, you know," Francis pointed out as he, Gilbert, and Antonio watched Lovino pen another one of his many rough drafts, "challenge letters are so out of fashion. Only Antoine writes them anymore."

The lead of Lovino's mechanical pencil snapped.

"_What_?"

"_Ja_," Gilbert confirmed the Frenchman's statement with a nod, "most people just try to punch him in the face and things either escalate or go downhill from there. The awesome me, of course, actually doesn't _try_ to punch him in the face; I actually hit him - awesomely."

"I give him a fencing sword and an insult," Francis added. "Then we start fighting. Antoine does the letters. Most of the time, _mon cher_ Arthur rips them up without even reading them." The Frenchman smirked upon seeing Lovino's livid expression. He picked up one of the older letters. It would be better if Arthur didn't see these. They all sounded like love letters. Lovino would never see the Briton again if Arthur read these. In a vain attempt to protect Lovino's relationship with Antonio, Arthur would cut off all contact with the sour Italian. Francis sighed. Every single one of them were stubborn in their own right. It was how they get along and how they fight. "Isn't that right, _mon ami_?"

"_Sí_," Antonio answered obliviously with his carefree smile, "then I approach him anyway and punch him."

"Do you actually hit him?" Gilbert asked, curious.

"Sometimes," the Spaniard spat bitterly.

"Fuck," Lovino grumbled.

"Do you not want me to fight him for you, _mi tomate_?" Antonio inquired, pecking the top of Lovino's head. The smaller brunet pushed him away.

"No, this is my fight." Shit, shit, shit, shit, why did he say that?

"Let Gilbert write a letter for you," Francis suggested offhandedly. "There's no way _Rosbif _can ignore a letter from Gilbert."

"That's right! My letters are fucking awesome!"

"No, actually," Francis whispered to the younger boy, who reluctantly relinquished his pen to the albino, "they are loud and demand to be opened. _Rosbif _loves a challenge from Gilbert because they are always so incredulous, so he can't put it down."

"You're talking about the awesome me, again, aren't you?" Gilbert asked as he scribbled the time and place onto the piece of notebook paper Lovino handed him. "You better be talking about some awesome payment for this, Vargas!"

"Yeah, whatever, you stupid albino bastard."

"I could rip up this letter right now."

"Chi-Chigi!" Lovino sighed, rubbing his temples, before muttering, "Ugh, dammit, whatever you do, just don't rip it up..."

Gilbert cackled.


	14. Chapter 14 - Lion Cub

**Chapter Fourteen: The Little Lion Cub**

When Arthur sauntered into the classroom and took a seat at his desk, he didn't expect to find a gaudy yellow envelope sticking out the pages of his history textbook. Flipping open to the page where the yellow was stuck, he found that he was staring at two black ovals and an upside down orange triangle that was slightly curved at the vertices. Arthur's eye twitched automatically, barely able to identify the image as a rectangular bird. How tacky. This could only be - the blond glanced at the albino, who, in response, grinned cheekily - Gilbert's work.

Sighing, the Briton ripped open the envelope and took out the letter. Really, he couldn't let the envelope get the better of him. Nevertheless, Arthur's green eyes diligently skimmed over the contents of the letter, finding only a time and place. Three forty-five, after school, on the rooftop.

"Aren't challenge letters Carriedo's style?" Arthur asked of the albino who took his usual seat behind him. "If you want to have a go, then we can have at it right here, right now."

Gilbert sniggered. "No way! You have to respect the _awesome _challenge letter!" the German crowed. "A lot of effort went into that!" Arthur raised a sceptical eyebrow, questioning how much effort could be put into writing twenty-seven characters without even formulating them into a proper sentence, but obliged nonetheless. Maybe this was one of Gilbert's games. Again. The git would always come up with something new that he thought he could win against Arthur, but he hasn't succeeded thus far. Whatever, the Briton decided to humour his friend for now.

Therefore, at exactly three forty-five, Arthur climbed onto the rooftop after school. However, he hadn't expected to see Lovino staring angrily at the flooring with his fingers bunched into fists that were forced to stay at his sides. He was restraining himself in one way or another, and to Arthur that was never a good sign. "Lovino?" Arthur asked tentatively. "What are you doing here?"

"I-I..." Lovino clicked his tongue, unable to get the words out of his mouth, though he was trying earnestly as evidenced by the slight movement of his Adam's apple. "Shit," he hissed before blurting out fiercely, "I had the stupid albino bastard write that letter so we could meet, dammit! I thought I had to fight you just so we could meet, okay? Because that's all you ever do here at this shithole!"

Arthur's hand strayed subconsciously to a bruise located on his forearm he had received from blocking Ivan Braginski's water pipe earlier that day. It wasn't the smartest move, but his body had moved purely on adrenaline at that instant. Although their fighting had declined some, it hadn't disappeared entirely, and an innocent football or rugby match during games class could still quickly escalate into a free-for-all brawl.

"I don't have your phone number, and you don't order pizza anymore so I can't deliver to your apartment, and every time I try to visit you, you're never there, and you don't visit me at work anymore, and you avoid me at school, so what was I supposed to do, bastard? Answer me!" Lovino cried, scalding tears dripping his cheeks from pent-up frustration. "Why are you avoiding me, you fucking 'specially privileged' bastard?!"

"I recall asking the same of you," Arthur retorted coldly.

"I was an idiot, okay?!" Lovino shrieked. "I didn't know what to do! You were always with someone, always with a girl or a woman or someone else, and... and I didn't know if I could see you! I still don't know, dammit!"

"You said you were scared of me..."

"Because I am!" Lovino confirmed, clenching his fists tighter until his nails broke his skin and dug into his flesh. Blood dripped from his palms and slithered between his fingers. "I don't know what the hell you can do to me, goddammit! _You _don't even know what you can do to me! You scare the living shit out of me that way!"

"Lovino, calm down - " Arthur began to approach him, slowly, but he stopped in his steps when he realised that the smaller boy was more fragile than for what he had given him credit. Lovino was breaking down, and it was Arthur's fault, wasn't it? He was bleeding. Arthur seized hold of Lovino's wrists, examining the cuts. The Italian struggled in vain.

"Don't tell me to fucking _calm down_!" Lovino barked, twisting his wrists around in attempt to free his wrist. Arthur ignored this but subconsciously loosened his hold, not wanting to hurt the person he once called a friend. Using this to his advantage, Lovino backed away from the taller student and unknowingly approached the stairwell. Unfortunately for him, with every step back, the Lion took a step forward. Lovino clicked his tongue in disdain when he noticed the distance between them shortening. "I'm not done yet, you bastard! Listen to me, asshole! You think you can leave me and shit will be fucking dandy with flowers and rainbows and fucking unicorns?! Don't run away from me!"

"You ran first," Arthur seethed, following the Italian's every step until he was able to corner the brunet, slamming Lovino against the door, pinning his wrists above his head with a single hand. Consequently, the palm of his hand was then stained with Lovino's lukewarm blood that burned his skin like acid. It killed him. "You've always been running around, avoiding the cracks, hiding in the shadows - "

"Because I didn't want to get hurt!" Lovino protested, flailing his legs in a desperate attempt to kick the Briton away from him. The blond was too close, much too close, dangerously close. Oblivious to the smaller boy's panic, Arthur slammed his knee against the door, shaking it once, daring the Italian to keep thrashing about so violently. He was trapped now.

"So it's okay to hurt me?"

"Dammit, I was _wrong_!" Lovino turned his head away in shame. The tears hadn't stopped flowing, and they were starting to irritate him. The only thing that can drive him any crazier at this moment was the accusation in those intensifying green eyes. No, he pleaded, don't look at me with those eyes. It hurt. It hurt more than anything he's ever experienced. "Okay? I was wrong. You scared me then. You scare me now. You scare me more than anyone I have ever met, and that includes the Russian oaf!"

"Then why the bloody hell did you come back?!"

"Shut the fuck up and listen to me, dammit, you jerk!" Lovino screeched, breathing heavily and raggedly. "It's because I'm crazy, got it, bastard? I'm _fucking crazy_. I want to stay with you - stay with you _more_ - and get to know you better because - for some fucking reason - I feel safe around you even though you're the farthest thing from safe. You're a lion, for God's sake!"

Arthur chuckled bitterly. He used his other hand, untainted by Lovino's blood, to tilt Lovino's head, angling so that they made eye contact. The amber gems were glimmering now, and the emerald specks reflected the light of the sun. Arthur could see himself in the golden hue. "I'm a lion," he confirmed, staring into his reflection in those shimmering earthly hues. "I'm frightening. I'm not safe. I'm unpredictable. I'm dangerous. It's all the more reason you ought to stay away." Their breaths mingled together. "You came here with a challenge letter. Do you want to fight? I can fight, Lovino, and I can rip you apart."

Feeling bold and desperate, Lovino leaned closer. "I dare you," the Italian hissed, hazel eyes glinting with fire. He held Arthur's eyes in a locked gaze, daring the other to break their contact, heart pounding vigorously in his chest. He willed it to stop, not wanting Arthur to hear it, but it wouldn't. He was too excited, and, dammit, those green eyes were fucking sexy with how they were sparkling and dancing like sunbeams and shit. "You won't do it. You wouldn't."

The Lion pressed his forehead against Lovino's, and the Italian could feel the area where he touched beginning to burn along with the flush on his cheeks. All of this only served to widen the smug, haughty smirk on Arthur's lips as he spoke, "I can."

"But you won't," Lovino reasserted. Their lips were only millimeters apart. Just a little closer, Lovino told - willed, maybe, or even warned - himself, just a little closer and -

Arthur pulled away. Lovino's heart plummeted.

"I won't," the blond agreed, releasing his hold on the Italian. He turned away. "You're... You're a good friend, Lovino. I'd hate to lose you, but I don't want you scared of me."

Lovino's heart cracked, but still he spoke, "Then don't avoid me, bastard. I-It's not a bad thing that you scare me shitless. It's..." Lovino paused, blushing "...thrilling, I guess, dammit. Whatever you do, don't avoid me, don't ignore me." Don't go to Feliciano or anyone else, the Italian added mentally, because that's what everyone else does. "Because... because..." Because I just want to be with you, dammit, I love you "...you're my only real friend."

Arthur was silent for a moment, hesitant in his reply; all of which served to fill Lovino's insides with worry, reluctance, and shame. "I won't," the Briton finally answered. "I promise. Just... Just don't - oh, bollocks, never mind. There are more important things." Arthur picked up Lovino's hands. "Let's get you cleaned up," he muttered. The Briton led the way to the infirmary, taking charge when he noticed that the nurse wasn't even present, and the entire time, Lovino could only stare at the blood staining his hands - both of their hands. This wasn't what he had expected. How foolish of him to think that everything would go back to the way things were so simply.

"Arthur...?" Lovino mumbled. "I'm sorry. For shouting at you. And for running away. And for sending you that stupid letter."

"It's all right, mate. Swear on it," the blond replied absent-mindedly. A smile tugged at his lips as he mentioned, "I've never had anyone done that before when they were always so afraid of fighting me. I think I can forgive you because of that."

"Arthur...?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you have..." Lovino swallowed "...a girlfriend?"

Arthur chuckled. "None. The girls who know me are either Elizaveta, who has something for Roderich, or Michelle, who's like a little sister anyway, or too intimidated. I've no luck in that department. Why do you ask?"

Lovino's heart pounded in his chest, flooding with hope. "No reason. Just curious."

"You're going to get killed one day with that curiosity."

"If you save me, it's okay."

Besides, Lovino entertained the thought, satisfaction brought the cat back, didn't it? It's only too bad that he didn't have nine lives, so maybe... Maybe it was better to save the adventure for another day. He didn't know much about Arthur's situation, after all, and it would be emotionally and mentally exhausting if this hope was a false one. One step at a time, right?

* * *

It was around eight o'clock at night. The neighbourhood made of average houses for average families was silent with only a few dogs howling at unfamiliar sounds such as the purring of Arthur's engine. He supposed that it was still better than the city in which he was born though. Peaceful. Quiet. Normal. Of course, Arthur thought to himself, it was all preference. A place this silent could only drive him insane, most likely, in comparison to a normal day in his life.

The blond kicked the stand to support his motorcycle and shuffled to the front steps of a place he used to call home. September already, he mused to himself as he knocked firmly on the door. His actions betrayed his inner turmoil. He hoped it wasn't Peter who opened the door. The brat would give him hell for disappearing two years ago - not that he wanted to leave, for the love of God, but he wouldn't dare cause trouble for Alistair either. He didn't need any more shit shovelled onto his plate.

Arthur jumped to life shortly after he heard the door click open. Light from within the home poured onto the street and onto the smaller blond Kirkland. He clenched his jaw as soon as he saw the shadow of his oldest brother.

"Whit urr ye daein' 'ere?" Alistair questioned as he narrowed his eyes at his younger brother. He leaned against the threshold with his arms crossed, wearing nothing but a muscle shirt and a pair of joggers. However, as evidenced by his neatly combed hair, they either had just been somewhere or are going somewhere. "Ah thooght ye waur still livin' wi' th' mistress. Did ye come crawlin' back noo?"

"Blimey, like bloody 'ell I am! Yer da wahn 'oo kicked me aaht, anyway! Wot does i' matter ter ya?" Arthur retorted indignantly. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, clenching around the small box. "Besides, it's da second ov September. I'm just givin' Peter me regards, awer am I not allowed ter do that as well? Tell 'im 'appy birthday fer me, an', 'ere - " Arthur pulled out the small box " - give dis ter 'im, OK?"

"Affa wee gift," Alistair commented as he took the box.

"Yeah? Savin' up fer Christmas," Arthur retorted, rolling his eyes. "Anythin' else yew wan' ter say?"

"Aye, juist one thing," the redhead replied casually. He held the gift in his left hand and clenched the fingers on his right. Before Arthur even had the chance to blink, Alistair pulled back his right arm in one fluid movement, slamming his fist into Arthur's cheek. The oldest Kirkland brother spat, "Wake up awreddy, dammit. Thes isnae funny anymair."

Arthur glowered at his older brother, remarking, "Me eyes 're open, yeah? I'm not da bloody wahn delusional," before pivoting on his heel and marching to his motorcycle. The blond kicked the stand of his motorcycle and glanced at his older brother one last time before taking to the night.

Meanwhile, a small boy tugged the pant leg of his oldest brother, looking up at him with the big blue eyes he had inherited from his father. "Alistair!" he chirped. "Who was at the door?"

"Nobody," the Scotsman replied, dropping his accent ever so slightly, as he swooped young Peter, born and raised in Hetalia, from the floor. The child had promise. That was what their mother had believed, so Alistair believed it as well. After all, the boy wasn't born in another part of the United Kingdom but in a new land of new virtues, futures, and promises. That had to mean something, right? Nevertheless, whatever it meant, the redhead kicked the door shut and locked it up tight. First things first, safe and sound security. He may not have the same high-tech, state-of-the-art security system as Arthur did, but he knew how to keep his family safe and secure... save for one never-forgotten black sheep. "Just good ol' Santa Claus. 'ere ye go, laddie."

"Awfully small gift, isn't it?" Peter chirped as he shook the small gift. "I guess it's because he came early this year and didn't have time because he had to get back to work!"

"That's what I said! Well, the first part, anyway," Alistair mused. "I wonder what's inside."

Peter wasted no time in tearing apart the box as soon as they reached the living room. Their brother, Owain, who had been born in Wales, and Seamus, who had been born in Northern Ireland, crowded Peter, whose eyes sparkled at the sight of a small plush Terrier. "Do you think it's a sign?!" the youngest Kirkland exclaimed as he held the toy in awe. It was no secret that the boy secretly planned to start a secret agency with animals - no thanks to exposure to a certain American cartoon - though it was rather difficult to find a legitimate platypus without having to ring up their cousin in Australia since international calling was expensive.

Peter raced to his room to place the Terrier delicately in his growing collection of animal plush toys consisting of a panda, a grizzly bear, hedgehog, whale, turtle, frog, fox, elephant and moose thus far. "I wish that jerk Arthur was here so he can see how big it got!" the small blond child beamed. Ever since Peter started watching that certain American cartoon a few years ago, Arthur would always help him with his collection, but then he had to leave. Peter never saw him again, and he didn't know what happened to him either. All in all, he still planned to throw together his own organisation, and the first thing he was going to do was to find his missing brother because Arthur was a jerk for leaving and he deserved to lose hide and seek!

* * *

"Okay, spill it, what are you staring at?" Arthur snapped impatiently as he glanced at his friend.

"You."

"Seriously, what is so fascinating?"

"That bruise on your face."

"Ugh," Arthur palmed his forehead at the mere mention of his newest injury, "don't even mention it. I don't want to hear it."

"No, I want to know," Lovino insisted as he began piling the food he didn't want from his own lunch into Arthur's. Since he was busy studying for that stupid mathematics test this morning at the dining table, he hadn't notice Feliciano shovel the remains of the hash browns he had made for Ludwig into Lovino's lunch box, and the infuriating part of it all was that the stupid idiot knew that Lovino didn't like potatoes! "How did you get it? Nobody ever manages to hit your face aside from that albino bastard, apparently."

Arthur snorted. "Please, that's an exaggeration," the blond remarked. "There are others besides Gilbert who can hit me once or twice in the face - but not all the time - in a bloody fight."

"Quit stalling and tell me," Lovino persisted, poking Arthur with his fork in the side. The blond flinched and jumped away from Lovino, who continued prodding and probing Arthur like he was a test subject in an experiment. Again, he demanded, "Tell me!"

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you, git?" Arthur cried though he was not in the least bit disturbed. The blond laughed and grasped hold of Lovino's wrist, smiling warmly at the Italian, and subsequently and consequently caused Lovino to blush, flustered under the attention and embarrassed by his own actions. "I've never seen you like this before. I'm assuming you're in a happy mood?"

Lovino clicked his tongue just for effect. Both of them were well aware that Lovino couldn't possibly be irritated right now. Nevertheless, Lovino replied, "Yeah, I guess. Even though stupid Feli put stupid potatoes into my lunch and even though I have a stupid math test next and still don't know how to do that trig shit, I'm in a good mood." After all, he had his friend back, right? Lovino smiled to himself, unaware that Arthur was staring, admiring his lovely features, enraptured, before recalling that they could probably only be friends. The smile on his lips faltered before dissolving completely. Although it crushed him, this was the safest way, wasn't it? He wouldn't be hurt, and Arthur wouldn't be hurt. Antonio could keep his lover, and everyone would still be friends - or, at least, as friendly as they could be.

"Hey, you okay?" Arthur asked him softly, lifting Lovino's head by the chin delicately with a single forefinger, as he stared into his hazel eyes with the ever-changing, everlasting green. "You got so quiet. What's eating you?"

"Nothing, bastard," Lovino replied curtly, averting his gaze. He didn't need Arthur to catch him lying. "I just, huh, was thinking... about shit." Lovino's hand inched closer to Arthur, seeking comfort, and, when he felt that cold brush of skin, he shuddered from sheer delight at the rush of sensations. "You think I'm going to do well on that stupid test even I don't know that sine, cosine, crap?"

"Sine, cosine, and tangent?" Arthur mused. Although he knew that wasn't what was really and actually bothering Lovino - because, really, the lad couldn't have possibly cared less about testing and studying as long as he was away from the nitwits - the blond decided to play along. Lovino would talk about whatever was bothering him whenever he was ready. If Lovino didn't force Arthur to talk, then Arthur wouldn't force Lovino to talk. "I think you ought to worry a tad bit if you can't even remember what they're called."

Reaching into his back pocket, Arthur pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. Lovino peered at it curiously and only found a crude drawing of a... robot? Yeah, Lovino told himself, let's go with that. Still, he couldn't help but bring himself to ask, "What's that?"

"Jones' science project," the blond answered curtly. "The git was asking for my opinion on it. I told him that it was crap, rubbish, malarkey, etcetera, etcetera, and so he decided to drop the improvements on me. The bloody moron didn't get the idea that I don't want to help him."

"But are you actually going to do it?" Lovino remarked dryly even though he already knew fully well the answer to his own question.

"No," Arthur said, confirming his suspicions, "let the brat do his own work, yeah?" Flipping the paper to the back, Arthur took out a roller-ball pen from the breast pocket of his white button shirt and clicked the end of his pen. "What do you need to know?" the blond inquired as he drew a right triangle with one short vertical leg, one long horizontal leg, and one diagonal line connecting the two. "We can start with sine - "

"Wait, bastard," Lovino interjected as he stared at Arthur with astonishment, "you're doing math with a pen?"

Arthur blinked owlishly. "Yes...?"

"You don't need a pencil? What happens if you make a mistake?"

"Well, as long as it writes, it should be fine, and if you make a mistake, you just cross it out," Arthur responded, confused and bewildered. "Do you not like the sight of ink?"

"W-What? Where did that come from?"

"I know some people who can't stand the sight of red or blue ink," Arthur explained casually, twirling his pen around his finger expertly. Lovino stared at his long fingers, reminiscing about what it felt like to take them within his own like that one instance in the haunted house, before pulling his attention back to Arthur. "I personally can't stand that hot neon pink crap that some girls have an inclination to use. It hurts my eyes. Solid black ink is much more professional and clean. I also prefer water-based liquid ink over oil-based since it's more fluid, but I don't really care for gelled ink. It's all right, I guess. Felt tip sometimes bothers me as well because, well, is it supposed to be a pen or a marker?"

"_Che cazzo_?" Lovino grumbled. "What happened to 'as long as it writes, it should be fine,' bastard?"

"Yes, it's all fine as long as it writes, but those are my _preferences_," Arthur confirmed with a smirk. "Now, come on, do you want to pass your maths test?"

"Well, no shit," Lovino retorted in a snarky manner.

"Don't get shirty with me," Arthur remarked, nudging Lovino lightly. The both of them ignored the tingling sensations fluttering in their stomachs.

Really, the bastard was on a wholly different level, the Italian thought as he observed Arthur's three almost perfectly congruent right triangles. He couldn't ever imagine doing mathematical computations in pen and scratching out errors. He and his brother - and even that smart as fuck German potato head - always had a special eraser reserved for solving mathematical equations. Still, Arthur wrote confidently and spoke confidently regarding the laws of sine and cosine and some other shit that Lovino didn't care for. Arthur's voice was calming to listen and to hear though, so Lovino was quiet as the older boy willingly taught him. And he tried learning, too. Really.

Lovino watched carefully as his friend explained the different trigonometric functions, but all that Lovino learned was that Arthur wrote in sometimes illegible loops that curved and blended the letters together, a mixture of longhand and print, that was well-rounded and elegant, in a way. His i's were usually dotted precisely above the stem, not too far to the left or too the right, and not too close or too far away from the stem. Occasionally, the dots were so microscopic that they were nearly non-existent, but other times the dots appeared to fly away from the body. His t's, when crossed, appeared to Lovino like perfectly aligned crosses one would find in a church or cathedral. Momentarily, Lovino wondered if Arthur was religious, but he doubted it. Then again, his own family was Catholic, and though he attended mass as regularly as possible, Lovino was not the picture perfect image of a church boy.

The Italian peered over Arthur's shoulder, his chocolate locks brushing against Arthur's pale cheeks, Arthur's breath tickling the shell of his ear, and the two leaned closer to each other without ever touching - too cautious, weary, and afraid to reach out for the other for all their own reasons.

When the bell rang, Lovino jumped into the air, startled, and gave his friend a wide eyed stare. The blond chuckled, patting Lovino's shoulder comfortingly, before standing up on his feet. "Come on," the older boy mused, "time for your test. Think you'll make it to class or should I escort you there?"

"I'm not a kid!" Lovino barked as blood crept up his neck, reaching the very tip of his ears, and stained his cheeks. "I can get to my classroom by myself, you know!"

"Oh, yes, of course," Arthur responded cheekily. "Thank you for the lunch, by the way; it was delicious."

Lovino's red darkened, flustered, and Arthur smiled. How charming. The Italian boy was just so adorable like this; he could faintly understand how Antonio had become captivated by this little imp. "Yeah, whatever," the younger boy grumbled under his breath. "Thanks for helping me on the triangles and shit."

Antonio never helped him study; the tomato bastard would always get distracted. Then again, what was that from earlier? Lovino scolded himself. I'm no better. Mere moments ago, he could hardly focus on the material when Arthur taught him. The blond was handsome, his voice alluring, and his movements graceful and confident. Lovino wondered if he should ever ask Arthur for help again if it was going to be like that all the time.

"It's no problem; I mean, you're not forcing me to build a robot or anything," the blond chirped amicably. He glanced over the crude drawing before flipping it over to his trigonometric notes on the back, slipping it into Lovino's hand with an encouraging smile, saying, "Best of luck."

"T-Thanks," Lovino spluttered shyly.

"Shall we go?" Arthur questioned as he gestured to the stairwell. Lovino nodded and was the first to trek down the flight of stairs. The fact that they were walking together seemed to gather quite a bit of attention, but Lovino assumed that was because it was Arthur with whom he was walking. The lion bastard always got his fair share of attention - sometimes more - especially when it involved fighting.

Being around Arthur felt natural to him though, so Lovino didn't realize that this was the very first time that Arthur had escorted him to class after lunch until they reached the floor designated for second year students. To be even more precise, this was actually the first time that Arthur walked off the rooftop with him. Lovino's cheeks flared up again. Usually, the younger student was the first to leave, and Arthur would rest for a little longer and abuse his privileges as the disciplinary committee head.

"Well," Arthur announced somewhat dejectedly as he gave Lovino a subtle smile only the latter could see, "here we are. Good luck on your test - "

"_Fratello_!" Feliciano cried as the younger Vargas tackled his older brother into a bone crushing hug. Lovino stumbled back, bumping into Arthur as he did so, and swallowed a gasp as he felt a pair of arms support him until he regained his balance. "_Fratello, Fratello_!" Feliciano whined like a beaten puppy with his tail between his legs. "Did you know there was a test today?"

Arthur choked a bit of laughter at Lovino's ill fortune, making the smaller glare at him indignantly and push him away gently (or as gently as possible), before waving goodbye. "Cheerio, little ankle-biter!" Arthur teased, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers and marching up the stairs around the corner.

"Vee, _Fratello_," Feliciano addressed his older brother delicately. He flinched lightly when Lovino directed a sharp glare towards him. Damn straight he should feel guilty! If he hadn't done anything, Arthur would have stuck around for a little longer! Ugh, Lovino willed himself to quell his anger, inhaling and exhaling sharply, otherwise the teacher would call him out and the effort Arthur put into teaching him would go to waste. Oblivious to his older brother's breathing techniques, Feliciano resumed his prior question, "What are you doing to Antonio?"

"What the hell do you mean 'what are you doing to Antonio'?" Lovino spat as he trudged inside the classroom. "I'm not doing anything to that tomato bastard, dammit."

Feliciano gave him a disappointed expression as he followed Lovino on his tail and said, "I thought you liked Arthur, ve."

"I do," Lovino grunted under his breath.

"Then why are you dating Antonio?"

Lovino didn't answer. It was safer this way, that's why, for everyone because, in this world, there's not only the two of them. There's not only Arthur and Lovino. There's also Antonio, there are their families, there are their friends, there's everyone at school, and there's a shitload of other people who are, in one way or another, involved in their lives. He couldn't be selfish. After all, Arthur's not the only one who can be selfless.

"He's my friend," Lovino answered stiffly, "_idiota_. There's nothing between us."

"Which one?"

"What do you mean 'which one'?" Lovino snapped impatiently.

"Ve, _Fratello_," Feliciano whispered, "nobody will be happy this way."

Happiness, Lovino learned long ago, does not exist. Life is too complex for something as simple as "happiness."

"Shut up," Lovino grumbled as he pulled out the notes Arthur had given him. He passed them to Feliciano and grunted, "Study already, you _idiota_. Do you want to fail?"

"Ve! _Grazi, Fratello_!" Feliciano beamed. The moment his eyes fell upon the single piece of paper, however, he realized that this was not his brother's handwriting. The younger Vargas smiled bitterly. He could see that whoever wrote this did so with care, and Feliciano had a good idea of whom. This wasn't good. None of this was good. This was all so dangerous. Feliciano just wanted things to go back to normal.

Meanwhile, in a certain special classroom for the smartest students of the school, a first year student burst through the doors, panting violently, as his blue eyes glinted with a dangerous spark. The third year students curiously stepped out of his way - not fearfully, for they had two of the most dangerous students in the school in their class - and watched as he approached the most feared and admired student in the entire school. "Artie," he exhaled, his breathing deep and heavy from all the running, "did you fix my robot?"

"Eh," was his short, curt reply, "I wrote trig notes on the back and gave them to someone."

"_Nooooooo_!" Alfred cried, collapsing to his knees, defeated. "That superhero robot was the answer to all of the world's problems - including global warming! How could you just give away all of its secrets like that?!"

"Git," Arthur muttered, kicking the younger boy from under his desk, "you're worse than Peter." Nobody caught his words though, but his friends surely noticed the bitter look in his eyes as he mumbled something inaudible to the world. Arthur sighed and remarked, "Work on your science project by yourself. I've been through that shit twice already, first and second year, and I'm sure as bloody hell not going through it again _with you_."

"Potato clock," Gilbert said from the sidelines with a manic grin stretching across his lips. Arthur, Francis, and Kiku each cracked a smile while Yao palmed his forehead at the memory. From his desk, he called out to the American student, catching his attention, and said, "Just make an awesome paper mache volcano or something and have it awesomely destroy the City of Jonesville! It's not like people expect much from the first years either. You're practically allowed to slack off and procrastinate."

Alfred was horrified. "Still, I can't make something that only destroys!"

"It's _baking soda_, you wanker," Arthur retorted. "Besides, aren't you working with your brother on this project? Ask him for any ideas, and get out of this bloody classroom while you're at it."

* * *

**A/N:** Does it feel like I'm stalling? I'm really not, promise! Everything is building up to something bigger. Really big, it's enormous, and it's coming soon.

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, added this story to their favourites, or followed it!


	15. Chapter 15 - Chemistry

**Chapter Fifteen: Chemistry**

"I can't believe I'm stuck with you gits for a third year," Arthur grumbled as he buried his face into his hands, "especially when our class has an obvious disadvantage in comparison to the others!"

Gilbert cackled as he swung an arm around Arthur's shoulders and the other around Francis. "Just face it, Artie!" he boasted. "They can't get enough of the _awesome _teamwork and collaboration of Beilschmidt, Bonnefoy, and Kirkland!"

"How come your name gets to be first?" Francis asked grumpily, not too thrilled with the arrangement either. He wanted to work with the beautiful Elizaveta in playing doubles for the tennis event, but it seemed that the teacher had other ideas for their class. The top ten students were divided into separate groups or individuals according to their specialities to make up for the lack of numbers, and just like last year and the year before that, Arthur, Francis, and Gilbert were stuck together to direct a ragtag team of seven currently not-yet-established members for the football event of the annual sports festival.

"Because I arranged it by the Latin alphabet," Gilbert explained as a matter-of-factly, "and because I'm just that awesome I deserve to go first."

"You know, if we alphabetised by first name, yours would be last, you albino wanker," Arthur remarked pointedly. While mocking Gilbert's tone, he clarified, "It would be the '_awesome _teamwork and collaboration of' Arthur, Francis, and Gilbert."

"Either way, I am the middle man," Francis snapped. "I see nothing about which to gloat!" The Frenchman narrowed his eyes at the Spaniard accompanying them. "_Mon ami_, you are not a part of our class, so why are you here?"

"What? I cannot hang out with my _amigos_? How cruel, Francisco!" Antonio grinned that carefree smile of his. "It's not like I have to spy on you since I'm already captain of the school's football club!" Arthur snorted at that. Since Carriedo was captain and a bloody talent at football, the school would probably bench him to give the other students a chance at winning. There wasn't really anything about which to boast in that case.

"You bastards ready to order yet?" Lovino queried as he approached the four older students. He squirmed uncomfortably as Antonio reached out for him and brought him into a giant bear hug. Catching Arthur's eye, however, he averted his gaze, cheeks flushed scarlet, and pondered if any of this made him jealous. Why would it? Lovino asked himself bitterly. Arthur said it himself; they were only friends. His chest contracted, and Lovino knew it wasn't from Antonio's powerful hug. No, Lovino knew what this feeling was; it wasn't the first time he had experienced disappointment. The Italian supposed he had brought it onto himself. Shoving Antonio aside, Lovino recited from memory, "Three colas, a lemon soda, and one large pizza - half wurst, half pepperoni - unless - " Lovino tried pushing the blush back down his neck as he faced Arthur " - you want that tea instead of the coke... I-It probably won't be hot tea from the pot though."

"Still, that would be lovely," Arthur replied with a gentle, encouraging smile. Lovino bit his lower lip from the inside, forcing himself to stand upright. What the hell was the bastard trying to encourage him to do? Pretend to be just friends? Only friends and nothing more?

"Hey, Vargas!" Gilbert called out to Lovino before he had a chance to leave. Lovino cursed his luck. He wanted nothing more than to be away from his crush while his boyfriend was around. Of course, their mutual friends would have to betray that wish. Eye twitching, Lovino turned to face Gilbert. "What are you doing for the sports festival?"

"How do you know I have to participate in that garbage?" Lovino questioned in partial curiosity.

"Everyone who is in a class is required to participate," Francis explained blandly. "Each event has a minimum number of participants, and everyone has to participate in _something_. Our class barely meets the minimum number of participants for the events, being just the ten of us."

"Good thing I won't be in S-Class for my third year," Lovino mumbled. He ignored the fact that Arthur wouldn't be attending school with him anymore after winter. All of this would end when spring approaches just as quickly as it began in spring.

"You could if you tried!" Arthur protested adamantly, almost affronted that Lovino had even uttered such a statement. "You're really quite bright, Lovino!"

Gilbert nodded in agreement and mentioned, "I didn't even know you had the capability of being in an A-Class! You can awesomely prove everyone else wrong, too!"

"Yeah... No, I don't think so. I'm too lazy for that shit," Lovino grunted. "Anyway, I'm playing football, too." Feliciano and Ludwig had joined the team for Class 2-A first, and Lovino would be damned if something happened to his little brother because of that evil German potato head. Like hell he was going to leave them alone together! "My _fratellino_ and your brother are on the same team, by the way," he mentioned shortly, wondering if the albino even knew what his younger potato brother was doing. With that, the Italian pizza boy left to deliver the order to the kitchen.

"Well," Gilbert concluded without having heard anyone else's input, "we might face them off in the matches then. I kind of hope they lose before we ever match since I wouldn't want to steal Lutz's thunder or anything; that would not be awesome at all." The other two didn't even care. "That reminds me of the Jack o' Lantern explode at Franny's Halloween party... Was it last year? Now _that _was awesome!"

"The one that carves itself through a chain of chemical reactions? It was last year, _oui_," Francis confirmed halfheartedly. "It hit one of the spectators by accident, so there's a ban on explosives in my neighborhood now."

"She was standing too close anyway," Arthur mumbled under his breath. "It would have been perfect otherwise."

"Oh, yeah, right," Gilbert recalled dejectedly. "It was awesome though, you have to admit."

"_Sí_," Antonio agreed with a wide smile. "I thought it was fun to watch though, and at least she didn't get severely injured! You should come up with another spectacle for your Halloween party, Francisco!"

"Antoine, being around Gilbert, you, and this _rosbif_, there is _nothing_ that is not banned anymore."

"Kesesese!" Gilbert cackled. "I remember that we used that exploding pumpkin as a chemistry project, too, but the teacher banned it from the classroom - and then the entire school. So not awesome."

"I suppose it fell under the school's 'no weapon' policy," Arthur remarked, "even though more than half the gits at school don't even follow that code." While Kiku was allowed to have his wooden bamboo sword for kendo practice, Ivan Braginski's iron pipe, Vash Zwingli's guns, and even Elizaveta Hedervary's frying pan (although she claims it was for home economics) were surely violations of the no weapons policy. Not to mention, there was also the gear that Arthur wore from time to time to intimidate the blokes from engaging in battle. He sighed and leaned back in his seat. "So what are we going to do? Who are we going to put on the team?"

"Not Heracles," Gilbert spoke up firmly. "He's too sleepy to be aware of anything around him, and that's not awesome at all."

"Well, we can't put Patel in either," Francis reasoned. "He's not quite athletic from all of that studying!"

"That already makes two people. We're down to eight now," Arthur grumbled. "Should we have them as substitutes or alternates? Who else would join them?"

"Vash has a good aim," Francis pointed out.

Gilbert snorted. "Yeah, from shooting that damn rifle all the time. It's a good thing that he joined the archery competition with Lizbet since it means we get more points for our class if they score anything. I think we should have Kiku in, for sure, since he's pretty enthusiastic about football. I'm not too sure about Gupta or Wang."

"Wang's fast," Arthur commented.

"Of course, he is!" Francis snapped. "He has to catch you and your silly antics all the time, _Rosbif_!"

"Gilbert helps, wanker. It's not _just _me."

"Kesesese!"

"I believe we should have Elizaveta play," Francis stated. "She is highly athletic and... _gifted_."

"You're a bloody pervert, Frog." Arthur rolled his eyes. "So we're crossing out Gupta?"

"Well, yeah, we have no idea about his athletic abilities," Gilbert reasoned. "So we'll present this plan to them tomorrow?"

"Might as well," Arthur answered shortly. "You gits do understand that we have to assign everyone a role, right?"

"Of course, and I nominate myself as the awesome captain!" Gilbert crowed.

"The only part that the captain really gets to do that is of great importance is winning the coin toss at kick-off or before penalty kicks," Francis pointed out blatantly. "Gilbert, _mon ami_, how good is your luck again?"

"So lucky he was born albino," Arthur remarked. "What are the chances of that? Gilbert's a rare one."

Gilbert punched Arthur in the arm, and the Briton retaliated. Before they could start a brawl in the middle of a pizzeria, Francis pulled Arthur away from Gilbert, and Antonio pulled Gilbert away from Arthur. Once they all calmed down, Francis and Arthur conceded and gave Gilbert the position of captain as long as he played defense, reasoning that Gilbert could calculate positions and strategies easily. He was also the tallest person in the class and remarkably noted for his strength. Francis claimed a position as a midfielder, seeing that he would rather not having a ball potentially slam into his face while he was playing goalie. They decided to give that job to Vash since he was pretty sharp. Kiku would be another midfielder, and Wang would join Gilbert on defense while Elizaveta and Arthur would be their forwards.

Arthur scribbled down these notes before shoving them in front of the other two gits to see if they were acceptable. His eyes roamed towards the door, where he found Jia Long and his friend Emil entering the establishment. The Briton waved them over, and the two first years pulled up a chair to join them at their table. "What brings the two of you here? Aren't you supposed to be practising for sports day?"

Jia Long shrugged. "We're still, like, waiting to be assigned to an event. Like, we don't really care where we end up - unlike Alfred," the Chinese boy replied shortly.

"What's Jones up to now?" Arthur enquired, raising an eyebrow dubiously.

"Oh, he, like, made ace for the baseball club, and it was like the first time that's ever happened to a first year. Anyway, so now he's adamant on staying ace or something," Jia Long answered casually. "He's trying to, like, rope Matthew into playing catcher or something, too, even though Matthew, like, wants to play ice hockey. Our class isn't nearly as dramatic, but I figured we would, like, chill here until everything calms down."

"Ice hockey?" Gilbert entertained the thought for a moment before dropping the idea altogether. "I don't know how to play ice hockey."

"_Moi aussi_," Francis remarked.

"I've skated on ice before in England," Arthur mused, "but never with a hockey stick or any of that bulky gear."

"Here you go, bastards," Lovino snapped as he served the four older boys. His eye twitched upon seeing Jia Long and Emil. The former only stared at him monotonously as though their interaction in the Wang family's restaurant had never happened during summer break. "You two want anything?"

"Just water," Emil answered at the same time as Jia Long's, "Whatever Arthur-_gēgē _is having because it has to be tea."

* * *

Arthur strolled into the flat, locking the door behind him, and greeted Winston by scratching between his ears. Kicking off his boots, Arthur shuffled through the letters Miss Jane had given him. His eyes fell upon one rather important and official looking document, however. Green eyes widened as he ripped upon the envelope and peered inside, heart pounding.

_Dear Mr Arthur Kirkland,_

_Since you have received this letter, we confirm that we have received your application to our university. We sincerely appreciate that you have expressed great interest in our campus and have chosen to apply to our university. Listed below are further instructions in order to complete your application, including applying and attending interviews, completing and submitting questionnaires, and obtaining your visa._

His heart nearly stopped, and Arthur collapsed onto his back from pure shock, not bothering to read the rest of the letter. That can wait for later. He needed to get his heart rate back to normal. Elizabeth crawled onto his stomach as he let out a shaky laugh. Tears dripped from the corners of his eyes, and the blond croaked, "I wonder if dis is a sign I'm ge'in' off dis bloody island."

No more annoying brothers he can't approach. No more vexing mistress he has to please. No more followers to pester him. No more fighting that drains his strength. No more lovers he can't have.

He'll finally be alone, and in a few more months or even in a year's time, he'll be done with it all. Hopefully.

* * *

"Fuck!" Lovino's foot slipped from under him as he chased after the spherical ball on the wet grass, and the Italian toppled onto his ass. His brother shot him a concerned glance before jogging towards the older twin.

"Ve, _Fratello_, are you sure you don't want to run track instead?" Feliciano inquired as he helped pull his brother back onto his feet. "You were really good at running track and field in middle school!" the younger brother recalled with a bright smile stretched on his lips. Lovino figured it was a way to tell him, "_Fratello_, you actually really suck. Please get off the team."

"We need eleven players," Lovino grunted, ignoring the fact that the minimum requirement was actually seven, "and I'm _numero undici_. The other bastards wanted to play basketball or some shit, so I'm _numero undici_, _capito_?"

"_Sì_~" sang his younger brother. The smile on his lips was now fairly strained, and he honestly hoped that his brother would improve sometime during practice. Lovino was fast; he has always been fast. However, he didn't have much power behind his kicks, and his dribbling was almost a lost cause. He couldn't play the position of goalie either because, no, that was a ball hurling towards his face at a speed faster than his own moped. Like hell he would willingly play the role of the target! Feliciano wasn't much better though; he only improved because he played with Ludwig and Kiku after school, the older student having agreed to coach them and help them train. It was only proper as an upperclassman, after all.

"What do we have here?!" crowed an infuriating albino as he marched all the way to the field with five other following him, including Francis, Kiku, Yao Wang, Elizaveta, and Vash Zwingli. All of whom were dressed in their athletic gear, blue tracksuits for the boys and red tracksuits for the girls as granted by the school. Feliciano merrily greeted the other newcomers and was happily received by Francis and Elizaveta. Kiku seemed somewhat uncomfortable with the display of affection. "Oi! Lutz!" Gilbert roared, throwing an arm around his brother, with a manic grin. "Are you three practicing for the sports festival? Where's the rest of your team?"

Ludwig cleared his throat and restrained from squirming underneath the pressure applied by his older brother. "We've agreed on practicing tomorrow afternoon together. I'm simply making sure that Feliciano and his brother - " Lovino rolled his eyes " - are comfortable with the sport first."

"Ve, it looks like you're missing a person, Gilbert!" Feliciano commented after a quick headcount. "You only have six people on your team! I think you need one more!"

Gilbert snickered. "Feli-baby," the albino cooed, shifting from Ludwig to Feliciano. Lovino growled lowly in a threatening manner, daring him to press any closer to his little brother, but Gilbert ignored the smaller Italian and continued speaking, "You see, we have an awesome secret weapon to use during the festival!"

"It's not so secret now that you've told us," Lovino remarked dryly.

"Ah, ah!" Gilbert tutted, wagging his finger. "You don't know who or what it is though! Besides, with Toni out of the way, we have a good shot at winning the football tournament!"

Elizaveta snatched the albino by the ear, pulling him away from the Italian twins, and scolded, "Stop harassing the underclassmen, Gilbert! You're embarrassing your brother!"

Gilbert snorted. "Not as much as you are! Right, Lutz?" the older Beilschmidt turned to his kin, who was no longer making eye contact with him. Ludwig was currently conversing with Kiku instead in an attempt to distract himself from his older brother's antics. Vash rolled his eyes while Yao Wang was beginning to display signs of impatience. The Chinese boy was tapping his foot, arms crossed, while glaring at the albino.

"Are we going to practice or what?" Yao barked.

"Don't get your panties all twisted up, Wang!" Gilbert retorted. "We're going to practice, and we're going to win!"

"Like hell you are!" Lovino screeched. "Maybe _we're _going to win, you bastards!"

"Ve, _Fratello_, I think you have to stop slipping on the grass first," Feliciano whispered to his twin. Lovino snarled vehemently and elbowed his younger brother in the ribs, making the smaller Italian wince with mild pain. "Maybe we need to get you some new shoes, _Fratello_ - like cleats."

Evidently, Ludwig overheard this exchange and nodded his head thoughtfully, remarking, "Yes, that would be a good idea. If we equip you properly with cleats, then perhaps it would reduce your skidding by increasing traction."

"What the fuck is wrong with the shoes I have now?" Lovino snapped.

"Nothing," Ludwig and Feliciano chorused, which made the older Vargas pulsate with mild anger. The younger Beilschmidt mentioned, "But the soles don't do much for you in regards to friction."

"Chigi! Did I ask you, bastard?!"

"You did," Ludwig confirmed in a low murmur. Gilbert roared with laughter, clutching his stomach, at the scene while Francis smiled wryly in pity for Ludwig. It seemed that the younger Beilschmidt would never get a break for having "corrupted" Lovino's younger brother, and Francis could understand through what Lovino was putting the German boy. It was the same thing he and Arthur did when someone approached Émilie or Michelle, and it was somewhat endearing to see Lovino behave such a way - one of the boy's few good qualities in Francis' opinion aside from his fine ass and slim figure. The young Frenchman supposed that he could understand why Antonio was so taken with the older Vargas brother.

Of course, that particular trait wasn't reserved solely for Lovino. When Arthur arrived, Feliciano narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the Briton and began seeking refuge behind the bigger, burlier Ludwig. Gilbert greeted Arthur by punching his shoulder playfully, and the smaller blond returned the gesture just as lightheartedly. Francis found it strange that Feliciano reacted in such a way, but it soon dawned upon him the meaning behind such a reaction. It might have occurred over summer, the young Frenchman deduced, that Arthur and Lovino had become acquainted - or even before then. Then over time, they became attached to each other, he concluded, leading to the challenge letters Lovino had asked him, Gilbert, and Antonio to help him write, all of which appeared too much like love letters in Francis' eyes. Feliciano was also witness to Arthur losing his temper to the stalker, and that would permanently be a blemish on his record - especially in Feliciano's memory. It would take almost a miracle for Feliciano to forgive the blond, and Francis as well was not sure if he could do the same for his childhood friend either. Lovino was Antonio's boyfriend, after all, and Lovino was supposed to be in love with Antonio. Not Arthur. Pity pooled in Francis' stomach, weighing him down, as his conscience fought amongst itself. He should stay out of this matter.

"What are you doing here, you lion bastard?" Lovino inquired gruffly of the Briton, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow in skepticism. Arthur was dressed in sports gear as well - a tracksuit with a plain white A-shirt that exposed a good portion of his pale flesh - but he wore black and white Adidas instead of his usual military boots.

"My class is here, yes?" Arthur remarked, gesturing to the other six members from the S-Class. "I'm here for practice."

"_You're _the secret weapon?!" Lovino cried, stumbling away from the Briton.

"What?" Arthur blinked as confusion crossed his visage. Gilbert was beaming on the side, and the Briton noticed, narrowing his eyes at the albino. "Is that what the git told you? Like bloody hell I'm a secret weapon! The albino wanker is bluffing."

Gilbert sniggered. "You'll see, Vargas, you'll see." the German insisted, poking Lovino in the ribs. The Italian slapped his hands away and scowled deeply. Backing away from the older twin, Gilbert rounded up his makeshift team and commenced practice with, "Alright! Team Beilschmidt, gather around! Time to talk strategy!"

"Time to talk _names_!" Elizaveta protested with the others agreeing with her.

"Why must it be named after _you_?" Francis seethed bitterly.

"It is not all about you!" Yao Wang continued on their tirade. "We should have a name that represents all of us!"

Vash huffed and crossed his arms. "The only thing that represents all of us is the fact that we share the same classroom!" the Swiss boy remarked pointedly. "Other than that, we have nothing in common!"

Ludwig, Feliciano, and Lovino watched as six of the top ten students of their school began bickering about nonsense on the football field where they were supposed to be practicing and discussing "strategy." It was hard to imagine that they were the brightest students of the entire Academy.

* * *

"So they didn't decide to bench you," Arthur remarked from the stands, seated with the rest of his team. They were all wearing matching uniforms that Elizaveta insisted on having. With help from Vash and Wang, they managed to secure a set of seven black and white uniforms. Everyone was watching the preliminary matches with mild boredom, wanting instead to participate rather than observe mediocre games. His emerald eyes flitted to the Spaniard in front of him, who had a whistle pressed between his lips to avoid speaking with the Briton. How childish. "Instead, they made you the referee."

Gilbert sniggered freely. "It's because his class would be cheating if they let him play!" the albino mused. "Plus, Toni knows the game best!"

"It's not cheating to let Braginski or Lars or Mathias play then?" Arthur retorted. "They're large and tall, you know?"

"Eh, the bigger they are, the harder they fall," Gilbert remarked, reclining on the stand by taking up space for almost four people. He rested his the back of his head on top of his crossed arms and stared at the ongoing match between the second years.

The first years had already gone and finished their preliminaries, and it seemed that Class 1-C, looping Alfred and Matthew into the game, would be qualified to go against their upperclassmen and was the only first year class to be able to do so. Not too long ago, Class 2-A had already secured their position as a qualifying team. Soon after this match, the third years would have a shot, and with only seven members where everyone else had at least eleven, nobody expected S-Class to get very far.

Of course, that was the kind of game that S-Class enjoyed. They didn't make it to the top ten for being lazy; everyone was competitive in their own right.

"We're up next," Elizaveta informed as she began passing out the water bottles. "Stay hydrated - especially you, Gilbert. We don't need you collapsing under the sun."

"_Verdammt_," Gilbert hissed, snatching the bottle of water away from the Hungarian girl, "you sound like my mother, Lizbet. I'm not going to 'collapse under the sun.'" The mockery in his voice was unmasked and sharpened with contempt. "I already put on like ten fucking tons of sunblock. I'm not going to bring down the team; that's not fucking awesome at all."

"That's not what I meant," she grumbled in response before pulling her soft brown hair into a high ponytail with a black elastic band. Rolling her eyes, she kicked Gilbert in the side and forced him to sit upright so that she occupied the spot beside him. "Don't get me wrong, but I just don't want you to develop health problems because of being in the sun too much, got it?"

"How sweet," Gilbert cooed, batting his eyelashes at the Hungarian, in a sickeningly sweet tone filled with sarcasm. "You're worried about my higher risk of skin cancer?"

"Gilbert, if you don't shut up, I'll force you to sit under an umbrella for the rest of the festival," she seethed venomously.

"Okay, okay!" Francis piped up, diffusing the situation at hand, with a coaxing smile on his lips. "It's our turn! Shall we turn the tides?"

"How can we turn the tides," Arthur remarked, "if we haven't even begun playing yet?"

"Ah, but we will worm our way into the audience's hearts, _non_?"

"Bloody Frog, your words are entirely repulsive and utterly disgusting. We're playing football, not reciting Shakespearean sonnets."

Gilbert cackled. "That does seem like something you would do for your girlfriend, Artie!" the albino countered. "You would whisper into her ear, 'O'er yonder window breaks!' or whatever!"

"'But soft! what light through yonder window breaks?'" Arthur recited under his breath. "'It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon' - "

Gilbert roared with laughter. "What the hell?! You actually have _Romeo and Juliet _memorized?!"

Arthur fumed, feathered ruffled, and his body noticeably stiffened with indignation. "That was a classic scene! How can one _not _remember those lines? It's like Mark Anthony's 'Friends, Romans, countrymen! Lend me your ears' - !"

"_Ja, ja, ja_!" Gilbert flicked his wrist dismissively as he hopped down the stands and onto the field. "Let's just start playing, lover boy!"

Elizaveta followed closely after Arthur and whispered into his ear, "_I_ think it's romantic!" She gave him an encouraging smile before chasing Gilbert onto the field.

Francis patted his shoulder once and remarked, "To think, a cynic as a romantic! _Mon cher Rosbif_, you are probably more of a romantic than I am!"

Arthur rolled his eyes and returned, "I'm not so much of a romantic as you imagine me to be."

"Perhaps, but maybe more than what I've expected of you to be," Francis retorted before following after his friends. "Shall we win a game?"

"I prefer to win more than one, Frog."

Team Beilschmidt, reluctantly named after its captain, won its first game with a score of six to zero. While its members were not surprised at all to have emerged victorious, the other teams and spectators were astounded. A team significantly outnumbered had managed to successfully won an entirely one-sided game.

Of course, they did practice for almost four hours after school every day until the week before the sports festival commenced. Their team chemistry may not have been the most impressive, but everyone knew each other like the back of their hands. Every little trick and habit and notion upon which they all acted was noted and committed to memory for the sake of victory because, honestly, S-Class _hated _losing. They weren't the top ten of the entire school for nothing.

* * *

"_Scheiße_!" Gilbert cursed as he glimpsed at the next matches. "We're up against Lutz!"

"At least we managed to get Braginski, Lars, Mathias _and _Berwald out of the way," Arthur commented. "The four of them on a single team is fearsome enough already! I don't think there's anything that can stop us now! Not even your brother!"

"I don't want to crush him _too_ badly though," Gilbert admitted sheepishly. "I wouldn't want to - oh, I don't know - shatter his self-esteem and confidence. That's not something an awesome older brother would do!"

"I don't think beating your _little _brother is something to be proud of either," Elizaveta pointed out blatantly as she raked her fingers through her hair, fixing her now unruly ponytail.

By now, Team Beilschmidt's black and white uniforms were now tarnished with grass stains, mud puddles, and specks of dirt. Too strung up and winded from having watched other teams perform on the field, the competitive students needed to relieve their tensions through the game and rarely ever took breaks, insisting on playing match after match. They only ever stopped when Kiku or Yao Wang insisted on taking the time to recuperate properly and slick more sunblock on their albino friend.

"Of course," Francis spoke up, "it would also be pathetic to lose to your little brother in a football match as well."

"There's just no way out of this for you, is there, Gilbert?" Arthur mused. "You either win against your brother and appear as a power-hungry bastard or lose against your brother and appear as a bloody pathetic wanker."

"Naturally," Yao Wang spoke up, "the rest of us have no intentions of losing. I suggest you warm up to the idea of having to defeat your younger brother soon. That way, you will be able to cope better with whatever outcome will occur."

"By that," Elizaveta remarked, "he wins that we're going to win whether you like it or not."

"Of course I want to win!" Gilbert screeched boisterously. "I want to _crush_ him but _not too badly_! Jesus Christ, were you guys listening at all?" The albino gave his teammates an indignant glare of fiery red before cracking a shit-eating grin. "Who the fuck do you think was named _Warlord_ here?"

"Well, the Warlord was overshadowed by the Lion," Vash remarked sharply, his eyes flitting to Arthur, who was flexing his joints, oblivious to the comments made about their reputations. "Nobody here really gives a damn about a warlord anymore. They're more scared of the beast that can rip them from limb to limb."

Gilbert snorted. "I'll get that reputation back one day."

Everyone rolled their eyes. "One day," they all muttered under their breath, the chorus amplifying the comment sixfold. Gilbert twitched impatiently before roaring, "For Team Beilschmidt!" and leading them onto the field. Gilbert met with his brother at the center of the field before Antonio joined them as a referee. There, they flipped a coin with the older team as heads, and due to Gilbert's luck, Team Beilschmidt won the coin toss.

The games began.

Arthur immediately sprinted forward, his speed not belying his reputation as a ferocious and feral feline, and invaded enemy territory. He caught sight of a defender from the other team and snarled, baring his teeth with a devilish smirk belonging only to Satan himself. The second year second cowered under the glare and missed the chance to block an incoming pass from Kiku to Arthur. The Briton immediately took the chance to shoot the ball into the goal, and with the tremendous force and momentum accompanying the shot, the goalie couldn't do more than duck his head.

Team Beilschmidt cheered while Ludwig grounded his teeth in frustration. His brother was not playing fair by allowing the use of intimidation tactics. If he tried to return the favor, it would not pan out well either since the majority of S-Class were not afraid of him, and the majority of S-Class were currently right in front of him. Frowning, Ludwig decided to take matters into his own hands and regrouped his team. The strikers were now on defense, seeing that they were not nearly as intimidated by Arthur, and the defenders were now midfielders, who took the roles of forwards. Of course, Feliciano and Lovino could remain in their ambiguous positions of midfielders, rotating between defending and attacking... Though by the rate things are appearing, it seemed that the Italian twins would do more running (around or away) than the previous two options.

Maybe Ludwig should have put them as alternates, but since they already had eleven players, why not use eleven players and hope that there was strength in numbers?

Well, strength in numbers meant very little to his brother and the rest of Team Beilschmidt, obviously, considering that S-Class was the smallest team of the football tournament with only seven players, the minimum required.

Again, resuming the game, Ludwig found that the upperclassmen were huddled together as well. There was some pinching and punching involved in their team huddle though, but that led Ludwig to another revelation. Team Beilschmidt did not get along; they had little to no chemistry.

Once more, they followed the same strategy. Arthur immediately dashed to the front of the line and headed to the opposition goal while Francis and Kiku traded off the ball, dribbling expertly. Yao Wang and Gilbert himself remained to the rear, defending home territory while Elizaveta seemed eager to block off any possible interceptions. Just as soon as they suspected a pass to Arthur, the ball was then directed to Elizaveta, who delivered a shot even more fearsome than the one Arthur had executed previously.

Gilbert cackled in a villainous manner, clutching his stomach, as he reveled in the astonished expression his younger brother donned on his face. "I _told _you that we had a secret weapon!" the albino boasted.

Arthur may have been a forward, but Elizaveta was the real striker.

Just as soon as they came to that realization, Gilbert himself had scored the next goal, switching off with Francis discreetly somewhere along the line and trading positions, before returning back to his mark as a defender. Together with Francis and Kiku, Arthur and Elizaveta had managed to do a beautiful job of confusing their opponents between who would be the striker, each one a twenty-five percent chance that decreased when even Gilbert and Yao Wang joined the switches and changes. As Class 2-A was stuck defending, they never had a chance to attack either.

Fucking Team Beilschmidt may not have had chemistry, but they did have a superordinate goal. They were all vicious and unrelenting to their opponents, never hesitating to snarl or growl or glare or even bark or screech on occasion. They never pushed or shoved though, and they never insigated a fight despite the fact that the school's most renowned fighters were in their team.

They were kind enough to let Ludwig's team score one goal, or so they had boasted. There was actually a lag in communication in their part with Arthur's spacey inclinations. Of course, the lion got Hell for that as well and was nearly benched until they realized that, oh wait, they needed at least seven players to play, not six.

Lovino cursed under his breath as the ball escaped him, stolen away from his brother's so-called friend. The Japanese boy dribbled the ball between his feet before passing it to Elizaveta. Instead of shooting it, however, she sent it back to Gilbert, confusing the opponents. Gilbert then returned the ball back to Elizaveta, who had edged closer to the center of the field, in a sort of chain where the ball was passed to Francis, who passed to Arthur, who shot the ball. Unfortunately, Lovino was at the wrong place at the wrong time - perhaps - and slipped on the grass, falling backwards and crashing into the Briton behind him. The two of them tumbled on the ground, Arthur wrapping his arms around Lovino's middle to support him and butchering his shot in the process. The ball rebounded off the goal and smacked Lovino in the face almost comically. Arthur suppressed a snort as the ball rolled to a halt.

"I can't decide if your falls are getting better or worse," the Briton remarked before pointing out the fact that blood was dripping from Lovino's nose. Ripping off the sleeve of his shirt that hadn't yet been covered with dirt, he folded the fabric and handed it to Lovino, who pressed it against his bleeding nose with a furious blush on his cheeks, making the blood surge to his face even more.

"Bastard," he seethed, his voice enhanced somewhat nasally, "why the fuck did you kick that ball so damn _hard_?"

Before Arthur could reply, however, Carriedo blew harshly on his whistle more than ten thousand fucking times and pulled Lovino off of his nemesis. Without even a moment's hesitation, he rewarded Arthur with a penalty card. Red.

"You're bloody shitting me," Arthur droned.

"Off the field, Kirkland, _te engendro de Satanás, monstruo, demonio, diablo, abominación!_"

"Toni!" Gilbert cried. "You can't do this to us!"

"_Oui, mon ami_! We only have seven players! We can't continue with only six while the other team has eleven! _C'est impossible_!"

"You've been doing fine so far," Ludwig spoke up, taking the chance to turn the game in their favor. "You were already incredibly outnumbered! What is the loss of one player? Unless... you feel threatened?" Deciding to kill off two birds with one stone, Ludwig continued, "If it makes you feel better, we'll send Lovino Vargas to the infirmary to get treated as well and won't replace him."

Oh, S-Class couldn't back down from a challenge.

"Kirkland, hurry up and get off the field," Yao Wang barked, "while we're still on the ref's good side!"

"And Feliciano's brother can return to the game if he feels like it!" Elizaveta added.

"I guess I'll see you to the infirmary then," Arthur commented wryly as he glared at Antonio. He stood up and offered a hand to Lovino, who accepted the help reluctantly, not wanting to see too weak in front of all of these spectators. Antonio nearly protested, but the Briton was fast to reason, "You _are _the referee, so I expect you to stay here and judge the game."

The two players left the field in favor of the infirmary, where the school nurse was already tending to several other injured students, none of them incredibly severe. She saw to the treatment of Lovino's nosebleed, and as Lovino covered his nose with a wet cloth towel, Arthur was frowning opposite of him.

"The fuck are you angry about?" Lovino inquired of his friend.

"Bloody Carriedo," Arthur grumbled. "What the hell did I do to deserve a red card?"

"He probably thought that you p-pulled me down on purpose," Lovino muttered, cheeks aflame as stumbled over his words. "Dumb tomato bastard. He needs to get his eyes checked."

"I'm not a bloody exhibitionist," Arthur grunted. "If I wanted to have my way with you - _if_, I say - then I would have done so when it was just the two of us alone. What is between the two of us - rather, my lover and I - stays between the two of us." The Briton blushed, realising what he had just spoken and uttered. "If," he repeated as though to convince himself, "_if_." He sighed with an emotion neither he nor Lovino could decipher and remarked, "You _are_ the one seeing him though, so I suppose I can understand why he perceived it that way."

Lovino kept silent about the pain in his chest, muttering, "_Sì_..."

Arthur sighed again. "Well, at least I won't have to see the bloody git any more if I get accepted into that university I've applied to."

That caught Lovino's attention. "Where are you going?"

"Honestly, I don't know yet," Arthur answered honestly, "but I plan on going to a university in Cambridge, England. I've received a letter of acknowledgement from them recently. I plan on attending their faculty of law."

"Oh..."

Shit, his chest really hurt right now.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm not that familiar with association football; I'm a hell lot better at baseball, which isn't as popular in Europe as it is in America and Japan from what I've gathered. More importantly, it seems that Arthur's planning on getting away, and Antonio's animosity is pretty obvious by now. I would also like to announce that we're reaching the main climax soon. Two more chapters! I'll try putting them up as soon as possible!


	16. Chapter 16 - Halloween

**Chapter Sixteen: Halloween**

"You know, Francisco always throws a big Halloween party every year," Antonio chirped as he swung their interlocked hands back and forth, deliriously happy and content with their current position, walking to school holding hands as discreetly as possible. Lovino only hummed once to tell the bastard that he heard him talk even though he wasn't really paying attention. He's been doing that a lot lately and not only to Antonio but also to Feliciano, to the potato eater - well, that wasn't anything new - to the albino potato eater, to the French pervert, to everyone who wasn't Arthur. It was like he was suddenly hypersensitive to everything the lion bastard was doing, and he hated it because, all of a sudden, it seemed like the blond was unable to care for himself. That, of course, meant that Lovino had to make sure that Arthur was still alive, feeding himself and not just his pets, and going to bed.

As October passed, all Lovino could do was cook lunch for the bastard and meet him at the rooftop or - occasionally - after school at the pizzeria. The blond took his application to that university in Cambridge seriously and was vigorously completing every bit of his application the moment he had a chance, so Lovino had been seeing him less and less, which was why Lovino took it upon himself to confront the bastard about what he's been doing at home. There was nothing worse than self-neglect and malnutrition, in Lovino's opinion, at this point. Plus, Arthur was a spacey bastard, so he's probably been doing it subconsciously. Not to mention, he probably had some project to complete for his classes. It seemed like, even though it was their last year of high school, S-Class was always working hard on some major project worth a vast majority of their grades.

"It was too bad you were sick last year and couldn't go with us, Lovi," Antonio continued obliviously. "Gilbert, Francisco, and I were the Three Musketeers last year! The year before that - before I met you, Lovi - we were the Three Caballeros! This year, we're going as a barbershop quartet!"

This, Lovino actually caught. He snorted. "A quartet needs a fourth person. Who the hell did you rope into this?"

"It's just us, so I guess we're going as a barbershop trio!"

"Wow." The bastards are running out of ideas already?

"You and Feli should dress up as something!"

"Aren't we a little too old for that kind of shit?" Lovino asked. The school was coming into distance soon, so he made a move to release Antonio's hand. "People still dress up for Halloween?" Lovino wondered what Arthur would wear at a Halloween party. Was he even invited? Of course he was, Lovino remarked dryly, since he and the perverted bastard had some weird dysfunctional friendship thing going on. The only question then is if he would come at all.

"Yup!" Antonio answered happily. "Everyone always has some good ideas!" Out of the blue, as though he recalled something he didn't want to remember, Antonio grumbled, "Even that _diablo Inglés _gets into it... I suppose it's the right time for him to summon the devil himself from Hell."

Lovino sighed in exasperation, glowering pointedly at Antonio, and asked, "Why do you hate him so much anyway?" Honestly, Lovino has never seen the Spaniard detest someone so much. The dumb tomato bastard was always smiling and shit, so Lovino found it completely and entirely strange that someone could unravel and unnerve Antonio so easily. He wasn't sure if he liked that either because it meant that there was something special about Arthur that caught Antonio's attention. Maybe the bastard secretly admired the blond... Lovino paused in thoughts, wondering how his train of thought had gotten derailed, and retracted his prior statement. There was no way _that_ was possible in _this_ lifetime.

"He's... He's weird, Lovi," Antonio muttered as they shuffled into the school building. "Haven't you ever considered that?"

Lovino narrowed his eyes, wondering if there was even a point to this conversation, before replying, "What do you mean '_weird_'?" Maybe Arthur's dying taste-buds were abnormal, and maybe his fascination with the occult was counter-culture... However, Lovino never found Arthur as a sort of freak of nature. The blond was human just like the rest of them, and he was unique in personality just like the rest of them.

Lovino... Lovino didn't have the right to judge him. Lovino, too, was "weird." He and his brother were born from the same womb, practically at the same time on the same day, of the same flesh and blood, sharing the same surname, belonging to the same family, yet they were total opposites of each other. Feliciano had inherited artistic talent and skill, and Lovino could barely clean after himself and other messes. Really, there was nothing special about Lovino, but Feliciano could accomplish anything if he wanted to get to work and put his mind to it.

"Think about it, Lovi," Antonio thought aloud as they climbed up the stairs onto the second floor. "Kirkland has high marks, is perfectly athletic, and has artistic capabilities in music and literature. It's almost like he's the perfect human specimen if it weren't for those caterpillars on his forehead. Still, even though he gets into trouble and fights, Kirkland _acts _like a perfect gentleman." The Spaniard stressed on the singular verb, and that caught Lovino's attention. Arthur had admitted to keeping secrets, and the blond did seem to have a deeper accent he was always masking. Still, Lovino didn't see the problem. If he wanted to keep secrets, let him keep secrets; everyone has something to hide... Everyone but Antonio, it seems. "He's always acting, pretending, lying, and I just don't know if I want to be friends with someone who can fabricate a mask and lie through his teeth so easily. He's _weird_, Lovi, in that way. He's hiding something; he's been hiding something for the past two years, maybe longer! Nobody knows anything - except for maybe Francisco. But if Francisco knows, then he's been quiet about it, too. I think it's something bad - especially if Francisco doesn't talk! He doesn't get along with his family, you know? I think it's something to do with them."

"Maybe," Lovino suggested softly, "he just doesn't want to hurt anyone." Arthur is not a bad person. He couldn't be; he can't be. He's always been so kind and selfless. He's never done anything for himself from what Lovino has seen, witnessed, and observed. Arthur is not a bad person. He is good at heart. Lovino is sure of it. Antonio doesn't know what he's talking about. It's all speculation. None of it is true, factual evidence... Aside from, Lovino thought bitterly, the part about his family. Although he knew naught the whole story, the Italian understood that Arthur had nobody to call family now.

"If he didn't want to hurt anybody," Antonio returned just as quietly, "then he shouldn't have done whatever it was that ruined their relationship in the first place. What it is that he's hiding, it bothers Francisco sometimes, I know, and even Gilbert. I'm not as oblivious as they think I am." They reached Lovino's classroom. Feliciano was already inside, and the moment he saw his brother and Antonio, he made a move to wave to them... until he saw the grim features settled on their visage. Antonio sighed and placed a gentle hand on top of Lovino's head, saying, "I'm not discouraging you from making new friends, but I am warning you to choose carefully, Lovi. I'm worried about you... Kirkland is not what he makes himself out to be, and I don't want you to get hurt. If he can hide and pretend that easily, who knows what else he is capable of doing?"

Arthur would never hurt me, Lovino protested mentally, but he had no strength to speak. If, by uttering that one statement, the conversation continued, then the Italian would end up defending Arthur in an argument with Antonio. He couldn't do that now. He was tired, exhausted, and he knew relatively nothing about Arthur. It would be an argument based on speculation, and that never did anyone any good. Besides, since when had Antonio been this protective? He had always been a caring big brother figure to both Lovino and Feliciano, but... Lovino was tired of this animosity towards Arthur. If it was anyone else, then Antonio would have tried to get along with them and protect Lovino from the sidelines. Now he was intervening, impeding, and interrupting; it was unlike him.

"What do you know?" Lovino mumbled, brushing past Antonio and entering the classroom. He missed the hurt expression flashing through Antonio's eyes and plopped into his seat. The Italian buried his head into his arms, using them as a pillow, as he closed his eyes and tried to regain the sleep of which he was deprived last night when Feliciano was bombarding him about ideas for Halloween costumes.

Succinctly, Lovino wondered what Arthur would even wear to a Halloween party. He didn't really seem the type to dress up for something so childish, but, then again, Lovino has only been acquainted with him for a few months. Maybe there was yet another hidden side of Arthur he would discover. At this thought, a faint smile traced his lips. Although he would never admit it out loud, Lovino was pretty damn excited if it meant he would get to know Arthur better. At least, he pleaded with the Fates, let our time last before he has to go somewhere far away, where I can't reach him.

"Ve, _Fratello_," Feliciano called to his older brother. Lovino's smile immediately dropped from his lips as he glared childishly at his younger brother. "Have you thought of a costume for the party yet?"

"Do we _have _to match?"

"It would be fun, ve! Alfredo and Mateo are matching, too!" Feliciano chirruped. The younger Vargas dropped a notebook onto Lovino's desk, flipping it to a page filled with sloppy freehand. "I came up with these ideas! Do you see one that you like?"

Lovino glanced over the page - Tweedledee and Tweedledum, The Twins from the Matrix, Wonder Twins - and remarked, "What the hell? The Weasley twins? We're not fucking redheads or British or whatever the hell they are... Well, you come close as a redhead, _idiota_, but why do we have to be twins dressed up as twins? Isn't that pretty stupid? We could be fucking peanut butter and jelly for all I care!" Before Feliciano could agree with his sarcasm, oblivious to the underlying meaning, Lovino made sure to correct his mistake. "Actually, no, we're not going as peanut butter and jelly." Lovino sighed. "You know what? Just pick something off this list. Not all of them are bad ideas."

Feliciano beamed and trilled, "_Grazi_!" before returning to his desk beside Lovino's. Ludwig gave them a curious look before returning to his book, a heavy novel about the wonders of time-space-whatever. He's been talking to Feliciano about it plenty, and Lovino could tell that his little brother understood completely jack shit about it. Still, Feliciano looked pretty happy with simply Ludwig talking to him, and Ludwig was happy to "discuss" it with someone. Lovino found them a strange pair; how could they be best friends with they had nothing in common? Whatever. It didn't matter as long as Feliciano didn't get hurt by the stupid potato eater.

The teacher walked through the door of the classroom then and began some history lesson about the Spanish Armada and British fleet. As the lesson dragged on, the older Vargas couldn't help but imagine the feud between Antonio and Arthur as that of Spain and Britain in the past. Lovino rolled his eyes at the thought, thinking that the mere notion was absolutely ridiculous. Instead of paying attention, the Italian continued to rest his head and bask in the warmth of the sunlight, ignoring the teacher's condescending and pointed look.

* * *

"Are you going to the party tonight, bastard, or are you too busy?" Lovino asked before he nibbled on his sandwich, not wanting to seem too rude. Besides, there was probably nothing more disgusting than chewing with your mouth open and talking at the same time.

Sitting beside him at the edge of the rooftop, peering beyond the wire fence, Arthur seemed, once again, to be lost in another time or another world. Lovino briefly wondered if he could still reach him. However, once the Italian boy snapped his fingers in front of those lost green orbs, Arthur jerked back into reality, and a part of Lovino was relieved. Maybe the lion bastard wasn't so far away after all.

"Sorry, beg your pardon?" Arthur responded sheepishly. "I was thinking."

"Well, no shit," Lovino remarked brusquely, voice bleeding with coarseness true to his temper. Scowling slightly, he shyly mumbled, "The hell were you thinking about?"

"Nothing in particular," the blond confessed. "I'm just a bit concerned about the interviews coming up."

Lovino's stomach churned uncomfortably. Right, the bastard was planning to go back to England. "You'll be fine," Lovino muttered under his breath. He couldn't bring himself to sound sincere about it though. Although he knew it was wrong and selfish of him, he didn't want Arthur to go to England. "Do you... Do you want to practice - f-for your interview?"

Arthur blinked at the suggestion before giving Lovino a soft smile of gratitude. Lovino's heart jumped uncomfortably in his chest, nearly leaping up his throat and out of his mouth, at the expression. "All right," Arthur agreed, "let's practice."

"G-Get out of here," Lovino grumbled.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Get off the roof and then walk back in like you were called into the interview - b-but only after I call for you, bastard!" the Italian snapped impatiently, cheeks flushing red. He hoped that Arthur would pass it off as anger instead of embarrassment, but considering that they've known each other for a few months, there was always a chance that Arthur saw through him. It frustrated Lovino to no end since the blond was still as much of a mystery as ever before. Lovino didn't know how to read that deep chortle as Arthur sauntered off the roof. Using that time to recompose himself, Lovino placed a hand over his heavy heart, trying to calm his heartbeat by pressing his palm against his chest, but even doing that, his heart didn't still. Immediately, he began surfing the Internet on his ancient iPhone to see what questions he should ask, but his connection was slow and ultimately his attempts were useless and completely in vain. He cursed his luck and then spluttered, a nervous wreck, "A-A-Arthur K-Kirkland!" He bit his tongue, realizing that he was even more anxious than Arthur in this mock interview.

The blond stepped onto the roof, smiling politely at Lovino, and seated himself across from Lovino. "S-_Signor _Kirkland - " Would the interviewers even speak in a language aside from English? Lovino scolded himself. " - why did you choose our campus?" Lovino pursed his lips before daring himself to go even further, "I am sure there are other law schools in the world - such as Harvard or, I believe, other campuses in Hetalia."

"With all due respect, sir," Arthur replied collectedly, nothing in his tone betrayed the fact that he was nervous about being interviewed, "I was quite taken with your campus itself. I've done my research and found that the student life was charming, to say the least, and when I researched information regarding the actual course and programme, I thought it was more fulfilling than what the schools in Hetalia could offer to prospective law students. It's more vigorous and meticulously detailed, and I could use a challenge. The location is extremely compelling and attractive as well, but that's only a bonus, I suppose, to what your campus has to offer."

Lovino flushed, embarrassed, before throwing his empty can of espresso at the blond. Turning away from his older friend, he huffed, "You don't sound fucking nervous to me, dammit, you bastard." I guess, the Italian thought wryly, Hetalia isn't good enough for a smart ass like him. Good for him, he mused bitterly, getting out in the world.

"I suppose it was because my interview was conducted by a nervous little Italian man," Arthur replied teasingly, chuckling. "If it really is going to be conducted by a person of Italian descent, I might think about you and relax a little. They have an examination at the interview, you know, to evaluate prospective law students."

Lovino clicked his tongue. "It sounds hard. I wouldn't go through all that trouble," the brunet replied, fighting to keep the blush from staining his cheeks in regard to Arthur's earlier comments. "I don't know why you try so hard sometimes. What's the point?"

"Because life sucks," Arthur answered blatantly, reclining onto the roof, ignoring the uncomfortable jabs of his equipment pressing into his flesh, as he rested his head on his arms, "I might as well try to make it more comfortable in the future. There's no guarantee that life will be any better because people are simply pieces of shit no matter where you go, but it doesn't hurt to make the best of a situation."

"You're more optimistic than I thought," Lovino commented sardonically. "I thought you were a cynic."

"Am I?" Arthur remarked off-handedly. He shrugged and stared into the blue sky. "In life, there are things you can control and things you can't control. I'm just manipulating what I can to make life more comfortable for me. It's not like I'm looking forward to a bright and sunny paradise in the future. If working hard paves way for a comfortable life, then I'll do it just so I don't have to deal with troublesome matters."

Lovino pursed his lips together and commented, "Do you remember the first time we met on this rooftop?"

"I thought you knew how efficient my memory is," Arthur retorted playfully. Lovino rolled his eyes. "Yes, git, I remember."

"You said then that only troubled people climb up here," Lovino recalled, blushing with embarrassment at calling himself a troubled child, before continuing, "so what's your story? Why do you want to get away from here so badly? Hetalia can't be that shit of a place... Or is it - " Is it the people? Lovino wanted to ask " - ugh, never mind, dammit."

"'If you're going to tell me something, then tell it to me, dammit,'" Arthur recited perfectly from memory, a smirk dancing on his lips.

"Don't use my words against me, _stronzo_," Lovino snapped.

"I'm not," Arthur assured him calmly. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to talk. Have I ever forced you to speak before? Talk as much or as little as you want. There's only the two of us here."

"No, it's fine," Lovino replied, blushing, "just something really stupid, dammit." He kept his gaze to the floor until he heard some shuffling. Arthur knelt in front of him, tilting Lovino's head at an angle with his forefinger so that their eyes met. Lovino's blush reddened to a deeper scarlet at the action and immediately averted his gaze, unable to keep their eyes locked. "I... I was going to ask if it was because of the people here that you wanted to leave," he confessed meekly, his voice a soft, mousy squeak.

"People?" Arthur repeated. The word was whispered, breathless, and his eyes sobered immediately, immensely. Lovino wondered if he had asked the wrong question when he spotted the dark, sour smile on Arthur's lips. "Not particularly," the blond responded, and Lovino knew then that he wasn't lying given the deep, pondering expression that overtook his green eyes. "There are people everywhere you go - except in places like the desert, I suppose, or the Amazon rain forest, places of isolation - so you learn to deal with them. There are certain people, however, whom I would not even like to see ever again... Does that answer your question?"

"Yeah, sort of, I guess," Lovino mumbled. In other words, Arthur really wanted to get off this island. The Italian figured he better not ask anymore lest he wanted to get his feelings hurt.

"Of course, there are some people who are okay as well," Arthur continued, choosing to sit beside Lovino. Giving Lovino an apologetic smile, he mentioned, "Otherwise, I wouldn't even bother coming to their party. You'll be there, I'm assuming? I overheard your brother in the news club yapping about it earlier when I was passing by."

"Chigi! So you were listening!" Lovino snapped accusingly.

Arthur grinned deviously. "Was I? I might have caught some of your words subconsciously, but then again I might have not," he returned playfully. "I'll see you this evening then?"

"Damn straight, bastard! I don't want to be surrounded by the Three Stooges all night!" Lovino barked, narrowing his hazel eyes at the blond. "You have to show up! I won't forgive you if you don't!"

Laughing, Arthur patted Lovino's head in a manner he supposed was comforting. Winston and Elizabeth always seemed to respond to the ministrations well. The blond hadn't seemed to notice the slight inclination Lovino had shown by leaning subtly into Arthur's hand. "There, there, little ankle-biter," he chirped in a teasing manner. "Calm yourself, all right? You've nothing about which to worry. I will be there; I've always been there for the past two years no matter how much I may have hated the frog. This time will be no different, okay?"

"_Zitto, coglione_," Lovino muttered under his breath. The Italian closed his eyes and leaned against Arthur's side as the latter continued to stroke his head soothingly. Grumbling indignantly, "_Io non sono il tuo cane maledetto_," the brunet soon found himself falling into a comfortable, dreamless sleep.

Well, it was about time for a _siesta _anyway.

He wasn't sure how long he had rested or how long he stayed propped against Arthur's side, but when the bell rung for them to get to class, Lovino woke up to Arthur's sleeping face. He packed his lunch box and then daringly pressed a kiss to Arthur's forehead, blushing as he left the Lion to his rooftop. Lovino was wholly unaware that a few moments later the blond would wake up in a hazy confusion, his heart aflutter and cheeks red.

* * *

"This is stupid," Lovino grumbled, clicking his tongue, as he pulled at the long-sleeved green shirt his brother had forced him to wear. He recoiled as Feliciano threw a pair of white gloves at him. Begrudgingly, Lovino slipped them on. Then the younger Vargas tossed him a pair of denim overalls and a green hat with the letter L sewed onto the front. "I am _not _going as a plumber!" Although he said that, Lovino was already half-dressed in his costume.

"Ve, but _Fratello_, you told me to choose, and I choose to go as Mario and Luigi!" Feliciano reasoned as his eyes widened to resemble that of a kicked puppy's. Lovino groaned before he angrily stepped onto the overalls, grumbling all the while, much to Feliciano's delight.

"At least I'm not the fat one," Lovino mumbled. When he raised his head, he found that Feliciano had already put on his hat - but in place of an "M," there was the letter "F" - and was sticking a brown moustache to his lips. "I am not wearing a fake mustache, _idiota_. I'm already wearing the damn overalls."

"Vee! It'll be fun!"

"It looks stupid!"

"If you say so, _Fratello_, but you're missing out on the fun, ve!"

"Chigi!" Lovino stomped into a pair of ugly brown shoes - when did they have those? Whatever - that matched Feliciano's before pulling on his brother's arm and marching into the living room, making sure that they both took their keys and cell phones. "Let's just get this over with! _Nonno_! We're leaving!"

"Wait, wait, wait!" cried their grandfather. The man in question leapt into the scene, pulling his grandsons into a strangling hug, and chirped, "This is your first high school Halloween party since you two were sick last year! Let me take a picture to commemorate the memory! Oh, Venezia, you look so cute in your fake mustache! Are you trying to grow a beard like _Nonno_?!"

"It's a mustache, not a beard," Lovino muttered under his breath.

Romulus Vargas, often simply called Rome by his friends, was a man who did not appear as though he peaked fifty years of age when in truth he was well over sixty. In the past, he was notoriously known as a playboy and had impregnated a girl at only seventeen years old. Although his girlfriend had abandoned him with the child, he loved his baby girl Rosa Maria Vargas all the same and spoiled her senseless thanks to his good fortune. After the break up, Romulus had moved to Hetalia from Rome, where he had then lived a genuine rags-to-riches story, the details of which were lost to his grandsons. Fortunately for the twins, their mother was more responsible than their grandfather. Rosa had obtained a complete education and became responsible for running most of her father's company even under claims and suspicions of nepotism, but she was entirely competent for the job and more. She fell in love with a little baker boy, fought for her right of marriage, and became pregnant with twins when she was about thirty.

Unfortunately, when she and her husband had passed away in a car accident, the Vargas boys were then placed under the custody of their extremely carefree grandfather, who seemed to favor the happy Feliciano over the surly Lovino. Maybe it was because Feliciano took after their grandfather and, thereby, their mother, or maybe it was because Lovino took more after his father, whom their grandfather was only warming up to like around the time of their accident. Whatever. It didn't matter anymore to Lovino, who had stopped trying to please his grandfather. His efforts seemed more and more meaningless each time.

"Lovi," his grandfather called to him gently with a smile after having snapped a photo of the twins with his iPhone, the newest model, it appeared. For a moment, the older brother was hopeful that he would say something pleasant - a praise or a compliment or something - but he was, once again, soon disappointed. "Watch over your brother, alright? He's not as aware as you are."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it, _Nonno_," Lovino replied nonchalantly. The older Vargas twin pulled impatiently on his younger brother's hand and led him out of the house like a child. "We'll be back later."

"Don't come home later than eleven! If you're not back by midnight, then - !" Romulus sighed to himself once his grandsons were out of sight. A nostalgic smile danced on his lips as he recalled memories of Rosa's first Halloween party at high school age. The girl had come home with a boyfriend then, and he certainly gave her Hell for it! Of course, with his little grandsons, he had nothing about which to worry. After all, Lovino was seeing that nice Spaniard, Antonio Carriedo, and Feliciano's best friend, Ludwig Beilschmidt, always managed to keep him out of trouble. Although Romulus had a bit of trouble wrapping his head around the fact that his oldest grandson might be gay, he was not an average conservative. Now that he thought of it, why didn't he try that when he was younger? Eh, whatever. The past is done with.

...still, bad things always happened at Halloween parties in the past, present, and maybe even in the future! Maybe he should have made sure that his precious little grandsons were carrying pepper-spray or something. After all, they were so cute, you could just gobble them up!

Meanwhile, Lovino was about to knock on the door at Francis' front porch, hearing music of the pop and hip-hop genres and sub-genres daring to burst and pour out of the house, reluctant until Feliciano had beat him to the punch. The younger Vargas eagerly tapped onto the house, shouting for "Big Brother Francis" until someone opened the door, much to Lovino's embarrassment. Finally, the perverted Frenchman cracked open the door and cooed, "Oh, Feliciano! You and your brother are so cute!" He slammed the door open, revealing his blue striped blazer, white linen shirt, beige slacks, straw hat and polished shoes, to engulf them in a hug. Of course, Francis was quickly pulled away and replaced by Antonio, who was dressed in a matching outfit, only in green. Gilbert was off to the side, cackling in the same outfit, but in red. The barbershop trio ushered them into the house filled with almost everyone from school, reminding Lovino of how popular the French bastard actually was - fucking socialite.

Amongst the guests, Lovino faintly recognized Alfred and Matthew. The younger Canadian-American twins were dressed as a cowboy sheriff and Mountie ranger respectively, both donning zombie make-up, and chatting with Kiku, who was dressed as a Japanese spirit of sorts. Jia Long and Xiao Mei were dressed as the Wonder Twins, and for a moment, Lovino was glad that his brother hadn't chosen that get-up instead of their Italian plumber brothers crap. Even the prickly Yao Wang and Roderich Edelstein were there, but the former was simply wearing traditional Chinese dress while the latter was wearing old fashioned aristocratic clothes, accompanied by Elizaveta wearing a matching gown. Lovino thought he saw Vash Zwingli for a moment, and that suspicion was immediately confirmed when he saw Lili dressed as Tinker Bell. He was probably protecting his sister from perverted bastards like Francis, though the Frenchman knew better than to approach the first year.

Eyes straying around the room as he followed his brother - ever the social butterfly - who was in search of Ludwig, Lovino found a ghostly Emil standing with his step-brother - or was it half-brother? Eh, same difference, Lovino thought to himself - Lukas, dressed as a horned devil, chatting with a Romanian vampire and blatantly ignoring a Danish Viking. The Italian wondered where Arthur was; after all, the blond was friends with the two other mystic bastards, right? Maybe he hadn't arrived yet. He would come, Lovino assured himself, since he promised earlier at school...

"_Fratello_! I found Ludwig!" Feliciano chirped. He hardly gave Lovino a moment to think or protest before he dragged his older brother along the floor and to the punch table, where Ludwig, dressed as a Roman gladiator, was chatting with his cousin, Roderich, and Elizaveta, dressed as an aristocratic couple. The girl returned Lovino's seductive smile - what? It was a habit, dammit! Besides, you should always be amiable with women! - with a friendlier one and stuck close to her, Lovino supposed, boyfriend. The two Vargas brothers were then dragged into their conversation about who had yet to arrive. While Feliciano was actively participating in their discussion, Lovino was only politely listening; in other words, he was ignoring them point-blank even as other people joined them. Before he knew it, their group had widened to include the Bad Friends Trio or whatever they were called now.

"I can't wait for Arthur to arrive!" Elizaveta chirped happily, her mind already gone to Lala-Land. Her words, of course, successfully reeled Lovino into the conversation.

"Oh?" Ludwig mused curiously. "Why is that?"

"Because he always comes in the best costumes!" Gilbert crowed obnoxiously, throwing an arm around his younger brother. "Don't you know that, Lutz? Oh, wait, you didn't come to the one last year because Feliciano here was sick!"

Lovino snorted. Feliciano wasn't the only one down with a cold, but whatever. Moreover, that was disgusting! The potato eater actually missed out on a party because his younger brother was sick! What was he? A lost puppy who needed to follow Feliciano around? Well, given that Feliciano followed Ludwig around like a lost puppy, maybe he was concerned, but the bastard didn't need to be! God, the dumb potato head was acting like a schoolgirl in love! How stupid!

"Hah!" Antonio huffed indignantly. "That's because Halloween is probably the only holiday he celebrates! He probably uses the time to his advantage to summon the devil from Hell and talk to evil spirits!"

Francis chuckled that ridiculous - and ultimately perverted - laugh of his, noting, "Though, you have to admit, he always comes wearing something sexy. Our first year, what was he again? A king or a knight? Whatever, it matters little because he was a handsome Prince Charming, was he not?"

_Che cazzo_? What's the bastard saying?!

"I still have the pictures from last year!" Elizaveta chirruped, pulling out her cell phone from her handbag. She scrolled through her albums before bringing up a picture of Arthur at Francis' party last year. She dropped her phone into Lovino's hands, and Feliciano and Ludwig peered over his shoulders to verify the truth for themselves. Lovino's face flushed with arousal as he stared at the individual in the images. Arthur was dressed in a sapphire blue top hat with a black satin band that matched a long cloak and a waistcoat of the same hue. The sapphire complimented his stunning green eyes while his body was fitted nicely with a striped button shirt, finished off with a large azure ribbon in place of a tie, black leather gloves, white trousers, and black Victorian styled boots. In the photos, he carried around an elegantly carved wooden cane and smirked to show his fake white canines. "Isn't Arthur the sexiest vampire ever?" she gushed. "Even Vladimir can't top that, and he's a vampire every year!" When nobody was looking, Lovino sent the photo to his phone and deleted the records from Elizaveta's history.

"I wonder what he will wear this year," Roderich mused aloud. "He always manages to stay in character so well every year, too." Right after the eloquent musician uttered those words, the door slammed open and in barked a familiar bulldog. People parted to reveal the newcomer, and immediately Lovino was captivated by those electrifying green eyes. The blush on his cheeks darkened, flustered, at the sight of the Lion that just walked through the threshold, the sound of his boots thundering against the wooden floor echoing and resounding in the now quiet room.

A devilish smirk tinged pale lips as the demon remarked, "Bonnefoy, stop 'idin' yaahr keys in the most obvious places," lifting the spare key in question. "Ye will be plundered an' pillaged if ye ain't careful, Frog, savvy?"

Lovino tried covering his red cheeks, not caring if he wasn't even discreet anymore, because, _Dio mio_, was a person allowed to be that sexy?


	17. Chapter 17 - Conflicts

**Chapter Seventeen: Conflicts**

When Arthur returned home from school, he wasn't at all surprised by the surprise hug he was given by a certain woman. After all, she never failed to return on Halloween night because it meant that she could play dress-up with him and release her more childish side after pretending to be an adult at her workplace. Afterwards, she made a point to stay for a few days because she had some leeway with work around this time. Every time, he couldn't refuse her request or reject her presence.

Sighing, Arthur gave his patroness a sceptical gaze and asked, "Wot do yew 'ave in store fer me dis time? A-An' wot 're ya wearin'?" The blond's cheeks immediately reddened, and he quickly locked the front door of the flat. The younger boy turned away from her and said shyly, meekly, pleadingly, in a voice belonging to a honest and innocent schoolboy, "Please put on some clothes, Marianne."

The golden haired temptress only pouted childishly and whined, "I wore this _especially _for you, _cher_! It's your Halloween present! I thought you would like it!" The woman pulled Arthur onto the sofa, placing his head on top of her thighs, and Elizabeth considered that was a cue to leap onto the sectional, curling into his patroness' side, while Winston was napping away in his dog bed. When she began combing through his unruly locks, tutting lightly at the tangles and knots she found, Arthur made a point to look away from her demoness outfit, complete with horns, tail, and garters and stockings, making her giggle. She mused aloud, "You're always so shy even though we have done much, much more and more intimate, affectionate activities." It's adorable.

"Yer lucky 'at there are no children 'oo go trick-or-treatin' in dis building," Arthur mentioned in an off-handed manner.

"_Mais oui_," she replied, her breath brushing against Arthur's ear, "_je m'intéresse seulement par les adultes_."

"_Je suis plus jeune que toi_," Arthur retorted. "_Je ne suis pas encore un adulte_."

She laughed like the playful minx she was. "_Bien sûr, mais tu es plus mature que moi - comme un vieil homme_!" Honestly, she could not tell if he was a child or a man, if he was innocent or mature, but either way she loved all of him. Tilting Arthur's head so that she could rest her forehead on his, she gently pecked his lips. "You are also a gentleman, so I can be a respectful lady. Just answer me this question: who is it?"

"It's nobody," Arthur responded softly. Knowing that she would never judge him, knowing that she could never judge him in more ways than one, the blond mentioned, "He has a lover already. I don't plan on doing anything."

She smiled knowingly. "You always get into these kinds of love troubles, wanting someone who can never be yours. Why must you torture yourself so, _mon chéri_?" She hummed a French lullaby in an attempt to assuage him before standing up on her feet. She pulled Arthur off the sofa and onto the floor, arranging his position easily so that he was kneeling on one knee. Taking his hands in hers, she mused, "It could easily be solved if we both had said 'I do' two years ago, wouldn't it? Then by holy matrimony, we would be bound together until death. We would need no other. It would only be the two of us."

"I was fifteen years old, sixteen tops," Arthur responded bitterly with a sardonic smile on his lips. "Even though i' sounds loike life would be easier if we 'ad married then, we would 'ave 'ad differen' struggles."

"Then what about now? You can marry legally at this age, _cher_," she chirped merrily. "Just say your vows, and you wouldn't have to deal with these love troubles anymore. As I've said before, you would only have me, and I would only have you. It's as simple as that."

"I can't afford a ring."

"But I can. I can afford anything you will ever need."

He gave her an incredulous look which she returned with a playful, teasing smile. "I would 'ave thought yew would 'ave wan'ed a mauwr romantic proposal," he retorted, standing onto his feet. He towered over her now at 175 centimetres compared to her 163 centimetres. She smiled wider and cupped a hand to his cheek adoringly. "Per'aps under da _Arc du Triomphe_ or at da Louvre or even _au Château de Cendrillon _at Disneyland Paris."

"Are you proposing?"

Arthur chuckled, contained and reserved like the gentleman he was, and responded, "We'll see, duckie."

She beamed. He was in a better mood considering that he had finally used one of her pet names. Whoever Arthur's mystery boy was, she had to give him her thanks. It had been a while since she had seen her Arthur smile so casually, always troubled by his family and even by her, temptress that she was. She knew that, and still she persevered to care for him to the best of her abilities. She loved him, after all, and she would continue to love him solely even if he loves another since there are things only she could do for him. There are things only a temptress can do.

"_Vas-y_!" she exclaimed. "We must get you properly clothed! You are going to that boy François' party again, are you not? My reputation as a designer rests upon your shoulders, Arthur!"

* * *

Lovino could feel his jaw go slack as his eyes focused on the blond for whom he had been searching. Elizaveta was now busy snapping pictures of him with her phone, accompanied by Kiku who wanted to "preserve the memory," both of whom were chatting animatedly with the blond while his dog roamed the party floor eagerly.

"_Rosbif_! Keep your mutt on a leash!" Francis griped as he stomped indignantly towards the blond.

Arthur cast him a single glance of boredom, as though he couldn't be bothered with Francis' problems, before replying, "He's pot'y trained an' tamed if yer worried abaaht that, savvy? Aside from that, everybody loves 'im." Arthur inclined his head towards the direction of Winston, who was happily being fed Francis' hor d'oeuvres by Jia Long and Xiao Mei. There was a cluster of people forming around the dog, eagerly petting him. Firmly, he stated as though offended by Francis' earlier protests the moment his sometimes-friend, sometimes-enemy approached him, "He's not a bully breed, Frog. He's a loveable, lazy git who happens to be a pacifist. He has no aggressive tendencies, and he doesn't shit and piss everywhere. You know that."

Francis grounded his teeth against each other. "He can be excitable, however," the Frenchman mentioned, "and these are Persian carpets."

"He's well-trained," Arthur insisted, "so the incident two years ago will never repeat itself again."

"Just see to it that he doesn't release gas."

"Now you're just asking for too much."

Francis glowered threateningly at Arthur, but the two of them knew it had little effect or meaning at all. It was simply bickering for bickering's sake. These were the quarrels that built the foundation of their dysfunctional friendship. Thus, allowing Arthur to take the last word for now, Francis turned on his heel and went to entertain his guests.

"What incident?" Lovino found himself asking as soon as Elizaveta and Kiku disappeared to take pictures of other events, such as the arm wrestling match that suddenly transpired between Mathias and Alfred.

Arthur gave Lovino a welcoming smile, making the latter flush from the attention, and said, "Winston didn't have _any_ inhibitions two years ago to say the least, but Gilbert insisted on bringing the pup. He's really improved compared to back then. Good evening, Lovino."

"B-_Buonasera_," Lovino responded in Italian due to the bundle of nerves tangling in one another, unable to translate one language to another. Once he regained his bearings, he asked the blond, "Why did you, uh, bring Winston this time?"

"Ah, pirates used to keep domestic animals on board to kill off vermin," Arthur explained, "or so I've heard. Winston wouldn't hurt a fly though, and Elizabeth gets skittish around too many people. It's purely image, at any rate. Plus, Winston could use the exercise."

Lovino snorted. "He won't be getting any if the girls keeps feeding him and giggling over him," the Italian pointed out, gradually overcoming the anxiety pooling in his stomach, as he shot a glimpse at the bulldog in question. He was currently being spoiled and lavished by Lili and Xiao Mei while Vash seemed to be sizing up the dog, calculating or considering something. Lovino cracked a smirk. Maybe the gun bastard was thinking about getting a guard dog for his sister. Hah, that'd be a sight to see.

"You've a point," Arthur agreed, bringing Lovino's attention back to the blond. Unfortunately, it didn't last long either. He pivoted on his heels and marched to the younger girls, shouting, "Oi! Xiao Mei! Stop feedin' me mutt frog food! You'll give 'im indigestion!"

At this, the two girls giggled and merrily replied, "Aye, aye, Capt'n!"

Arthur didn't stop with just that though. He gave Lovino a sheepish smile and apologized, stating that he would return soon. The tail of his red velvet cloak whirled around, wafting a faint aroma of sand and sea into Lovino's nose, and the Italian wondered just why the bastard wanted to tease him so badly.

Arthur came dressed up as a pirate, and he wasn't just any classic pirate. He was drop-dead _gorgeous_ and absolutely dominating with his presence. The lion bastard was wearing some long coat with golden accents and embroidery, to which careful details were paid attention, with matching epaulettes on his shoulders and buttons, each engraved with a Tudor rose, on his lapels. The coat was undone over a simple ivory shirt, fastened with a cravat around his neck and a red silk sash around his waist that nearly concealed the brown leather belt holding a silver revolver that most people hoped was a prop. (There need not be a duel between Vash Zwingli and Arthur Kirkland, after all. The two of them had been rumored to have fought before, and nobody enjoyed cleaning up the aftermath.) A matching buckle was strapped across his chest, holding a sheathed cutlass that rested against his hip most party-goers hoped was simply a prop as well. (There need not a duel between Francis Bonnefoy, Gilbert Beilschmidt, Kiku Honda, and Arthur Kirkland when it came to sword styles. That aftermath had not been pretty either, or so it was rumored.) He donned loose dark trousers to keep true to the historical accuracy of the image that were tucked into knee-high combative boots, laced all the way to the top, along with his signature black leather gloves and a black tricorn hat adorned with a lavish white plume. His usual titanium piercings, too, Lovino noticed, had been replaced with those of gold and jewels.

"You're staring," someone whispered to Lovino. The older Vargas snapped back to reality and stared face to face with Feliciano's frown. Feliciano almost never frowned. In a leveled voice, the younger Vargas warned his brother, "_Fratello_, don't fall in love with _il Leone Rampante_, please. It won't turn out well!"

"Nobody's falling in love with anybody," Lovino snapped defensively. It was already too late for "falling in love" anyway. Lovino fell long ago - and hard - so what was the point of warning him now? He already knew he dug himself a grave loaded with piles of shit, and Lovino practically stuck one foot inside at this point. Aside from that, the older Vargas twin didn't need his brother telling him what to do either. "Besides, what does it matter to you if I love him or not?"

"Because you're my _fratellone_!" Feliciano persisted, marching to Ludwig's side, desperately and indignantly. The potato head had migrated from one side of the room to the other in order to speak with Kiku about something regarding engineering and mechanics. According to Feliciano, the two of them were always speaking about engineering and mechanics. Lovino didn't understand how his brother could get along with people with whom he shared little in common. Then again, he was the exact opposite of Lovino, a social butterfly, so he was especially confused when Feliciano, who loved everyone, suddenly disliked Arthur Kirkland even though he initially feared him.

"_Fratellino stupido_," Lovino muttered under his breath. He fiddled his hands, eyes darting around the room in an attempt to find something entertaining. The stupid tomato bastard was singing with his friends in their trio, which was entirely off-key and unrehearsed, his brother was with his friends, and he didn't know any of these bastards well enough to initiate a conversation. He supposed he could meet new people - _mingle _- but what was the point? They were all bound to like his brother over him and treat him like shit in the end.

"Hey, you, the Italian."

Lovino's eye twitched in irritation, but still he turned his attention to the newcomer. "Great," he seethed in mild annoyance, "it's you."

Jia Long rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Like, have you made up your mind yet?" the younger boy inquired monotonously, opposed to the actual concern he felt. He had just, after all, temporarily abandoned his best friend by the stairs with a group of girls, leaving Emil to deal with them alone while his half-brother was having a showdown with his Danish friend after the latter was done dealing the American zombie cowboy.

"_Che palle! Ancora_?" Lovino muttered to himself before raising an eyebrow. "What the hell are you saying this time?"

Jia Long scoffed. "You, like, looked indecisive - _again _- so I came to give you a push or whatever," he explained vaguely. "Stop leading him on if, like, you're not going to do anything." He smirked. "You know, it would be, like, easier if I just took him for myself, so then you don't have to, like, deal with all this shit I'm giving you - and I wouldn't have to give you shit either."

Lovino fumed. "_Non prendermi per il culo! Vaffanculo!_"

The Chinese boy hummed, not really comprehending what the Italian had just spat at him, and patted Lovino's shoulder. The older boy promptly shrugged the hand off his shoulder and slapped it away. "Go get 'im, soldier, and then we'll see," Jia Long mused in his usual deadpan, pushing Lovino into Arthur's direction.

The blond was going through a list of commands with Winston, a crowd of spectators observing them with interest, before giving the pup his approval to have some fun. Winston immediately took to following Xiao Mei around the room, much to her confusion, before wandering to Alfred and Matthew. In the meanwhile, Arthur had just caught Lovino stumbling over his ugly brown shoes. He gave the boy a subtle smile filled with fondness disguised as a smirk, wondering if the Italian could see past the façade, before approaching him.

"As graceful as ever, I see," the blond remarked casually, dropping his pirate voice in favour of his usual tone.

Lovino flushed but followed him to the punch table, where Arthur poured them both a cup each. Lovino took it in a begrudging manner, muttering an almost silent "_grazi_," and shrunk under the curious gazes of their onlookers. He knew that he wasn't with Antonio, and he knew that he was almost always with Antonio... but did that mean he couldn't be around other people, dammit?! Stupid bastards!

Sensing the discomfort of his companion, Arthur bent over, closing the slight difference in their height, and murmured softly into his ear, "Don't mind them, git. Loosen up! It doesn't matter what other people think, does it now?" Standing up straight, the blond asked Lovino, "Do you have any friends who haven't arrived yet? We can go search for them together, if you'd like."

Lovino blushed, ashamed, as he muttered, "You're the only friend I have," under his breath so softly that it was inaudible and incomprehensible. Arthur hummed, leaning closer to Lovino's lips, placing his ear right in front of him. The blush reddened noticeably into a deep crimson matching the tomatoes he loved so much, especially when other people were starting to stare, and yet when Arthur told him that he couldn't hear him, cool breath brushing against his tanned skin like a winter's draft scented with fresh peppermint and vanilla... Had Arthur eaten something before coming here? Maybe, but it probably wasn't important enough to ask him. Lovino found him speaking louder into Arthur's ear, hoping that the sound would carry over the waves of the pounding bass of the dance music.

"Feliciano has always been the more sociable one, anyway. It's obvious they would like him more."

At his answer, Arthur frowned before downing the entirety of his drink, tossing the empty cup into the garbage can nearby. He latched onto Lovino's hand, pulling him along, much to the confusion of his friend and their on-lookers. When prompted about where they were going, Arthur didn't give an answer, filling Lovino's chest with anticipation and silent trepidation, and instead led the boy through the kitchen, where Yao Wang was scouring through Francis' kitchen to prepare the guests "real food." The Chinese boy ignored Arthur and Lovino without even casting them a single glance, passing it off as another horny couple trying to get some alone time, and continued to prepare his meal.

Arthur flung open the door to the backyard, closing it behind them, and led Lovino to the patio table onlooking the dark waters of the pool. They each took a seat, and Lovino glanced at his cup of punch, taking a small sip and wincing at the sour taste in his mouth.

"You're always talking about Feliciano; rather, you're always talking about how much better he is than you," Arthur pointed out in a grave voice. "Why?" he asked even though the blond knew perfectly well the reason. For some inexplicable reason, the brunet had low self-esteem, low self-worth, low self-value, low self-confidence. Everything to do with himself was low, and Arthur loathed seeing it. Lovino was magnificent, full of surprises and colours of varying hues and shades. He was like the firecrackers Jia Long puts together. They always annoyed him, loud and bright and obnoxious as they were, when he was subject to the boy's pranks, but when he wasn't being targeted, they were more than pleasant to watch in the dark skies. They were always a spectacle to admire and by which to be captivated and enchanted. They were dazzling and magical and beautiful and everything wonderful like puffs of pixie dust. Lovino needed to know that.

The smaller boy clicked his tongue in vexation, not wanting to have to answer to Arthur, but after casting a glance to their isolated surroundings and finding that nobody was there with them, Lovino considered the possibility of confiding in the blond. Knowing that his friend was not one to judge him or to force him to speak after all the time they've been together - _acquainted_, Lovino quickly corrected himself - the brunet brought himself to confess, "Feliciano and I used to have parents. They loved us both equally, but I think I was always more of a _mammone _than him." Upon seeing Arthur's confused face, he translated, "Mama's boy - I was always more of a mama's boy."

At this, Arthur cracked a warm smile, making Lovino blush and protest ("Don't laugh, you bastard!"), before musing, "I can see that, actually. It's... It's really cute." Just like you, the blond added mentally, soft smile lingering on his lips, but like bloody hell he could say that. "You said..." Here, he knew he was treading a field hidden with land mines, but still he ventured forth, "You _used _to have parents?"

"Yeah," Lovino confirmed. "They died in a car accident." Arthur frowned and offered his condolences, but the Italian hardly accepted them. "You don't have anything to be sorry about. I'm over it." Arthur gave him an incredulous look, but Lovino dismissed it almost nonchalantly. Almost. The Briton could see that he was still bothered by the whole matter. "It's not that I don't miss them - I _do _- but I can't mope about it forever, you know? Anyway, I was super fucking shy back then - " Arthur gave him a pointed look, asking him how that was any different from now, and Lovino acquiesced, adding, " - more than I am right now, happy, bastard? Anyway, _Mamma _would always tell me that to gain confidence that I need to speak to girls more."

Arthur tried to contain his laughter, but his smile widened into an amused grin. Lovino gave him a dry look. "Yeah," the Italian seethed bitterly though he was not as resentful as he sounded, just playful, "go ahead and laugh, bastard. That's where my flirting habits come from. Now you know."

The blond's shoulders shook with silent laughter as he buried his face into his hands. "N-No," he choked out. "I-I'm fine! C-C-Continue."

"Bastard, just laugh already."

Taking Lovino's word, the blond burst into laughter, calming down after seeing the other's warm, nostalgic smile. It was beautiful.

"It didn't work out very well in the beginning since I was so awkward, and when we started going to preschool and kindergarten and shit, people just preferred my brother over me. He wasn't as awkward; he was out-going and bubbly - still is - and cute. He was more like my mother in that respect, but she was a hell lot smarter. She was sharp and bright but not at all flamboyant. I took after my father, who didn't really stand out much either, but compared to my mother, he was a wallflower sort of bastard," Lovino resumed. "He baked and cooked for a living, and my grandfather didn't really like that at all. How could he provide for a family if he lived on a meager salary? He was nice and sweet, and he didn't have much of a backbone, too. It took a whole lot of shit to get _Nonno's_ blessing, apparently, but he had to marry into the family in the end. Well, anyway, after I got home from school, I started learning how to prepare meals with my father because Feliciano was always the one who took art lessons. I just wanted to have something to myself, you know? Something that made me feel like me and not my brother's useless and mean big brother.

"But people still paid more attention to Feliciano. I guess it's because you can actually see his art in the classroom since you draw with crayons and crap. His stuff always gets hung on the walls, and I would always rip mine before anyone saw it. I didn't want anyone to see it. I didn't want anyone to compare me to Feliciano, and yet.. and yet - " Lovino rubbed at the tears forming in his eyes with the back of his hands " - they always did. Still do. They always do. Because we're twins. Because we look the same. Because we're brothers. Because we have the same last name. Because we're from the same family. Because we have the same genetic material - flesh and blood - eyes and ears and nose - and N-_Nonno_, he's always liked Feliciano better than me because Feliciano - Feliciano looks like _Mamma _and I'm like _Papà_ - and _Nonno _doesn't like _Papà_."

Arthur grabbed Lovino's hands, preventing him from rubbing those divine, glistening hazel eyes, with one of his own. He peeled off one of his leather gloves with his teeth, using his thumb to wipe away a stray tear. The amber had transformed into liquid gold, and the emerald flecks were pools of sea-foam. The blond did the same to his other hand, holding Lovino's face with his ungloved hand, rubbing the red coat on his cheeks adoringly. Subconsciously, Lovino leaned into his touch, chest aching from the rapid pounding of his heart.

"You're wonderful," Arthur stated firmly, "and you're not your brother. That's why you're not _like _your brother, and you don't need to be your brother either! Do you know why? Because you will never be your brother. You will always be Lovino Vargas, lovely, beautiful Lovino Vargas. You are yourself, not anyone else, and don't you forget that. It's a pity that human nature is predisposed to prejudice; people judge indiscriminately. They don't see how magnificent and marvellous you are." The blond gave him a tender smile and mused, "Though... I suppose that's for the best. I wouldn't want anyone else admiring you - if I was your lover, that is - since I would want to keep you all to myself."

Lovino flushed and recoiled from Arthur's cool, calm touch like it had burned him. "W-What are you saying, b-bastard?!" he hissed though he lacked his usual vigour and venom.

"Isn't it what it sounds like?" Arthur mused vaguely.

"It sounds like you're flirting with me."

"I suppose I am."

"Bastard, what kind of answer is that?!"

"Did you know," Arthur mused, "that Maltese are bred to be companion dogs? They love to cuddle and to be coddled with love and attention. Plus, they are quite lively and energetic, but there are parts of the world where they are the most abandoned dog breed. It seems they bark constantly and suffer from separation anxiety."

"What the fuck does that have to do with anything?"

"My little ankle-biter," Arthur addressed Lovino remorsefully, "I will say it again: you do not need to compete with your brother. Have confidence because nobody will _ever_ abandon you again; at the very least, I won't ever abandon you - not again, not ever, not any more. Just be yourself, and, also, don't stray too far from your lover."

"That tomato bastard again?" Lovino snapped, standing up and slamming the palms of his hands onto the surface of the patio table, shaking it once and spilling his cup of punch. "What the fuck does he matter to you?!"

"He doesn't," Arthur responded calmly, taking Lovino's hands to evaluate the damage. They were only slightly reddened, and the blond dared himself to kiss them lightly, once on each hand. He gave the flushing brunet a smile full of regret and guilt. "On the other hand," he clarified, "_you _do." The blond stood onto his feet and pivoted on his heel, "Now then, we ought to get you to Carriedo - "

Lovino snatched hold of the cuff of his velvet coat and forcefully pulled Arthur back, pulled him closer to his own body, with one powerful yank. He grabbed hold of the cravat while the other hand still gripped at the pirate's sleeve, causing Arthur to bend over, and slammed his lips onto the blond's. They pressed against each other before locking together, a perfect fit, and though Arthur was initially frozen with shock, the blond responded by parting his lips and prying Lovino's apart with his powerful tongue, pierced with that cool metal stud. This time, the Italian was taken by surprise by the sudden burst of passion. He'd never kissed this way before since Antonio was always treating him like a fragile porcelain doll, but he caught onto Arthur's actions quickly and mimicked the motions. The blond's warm tongue slipped into the warm cavern, tasting faintly of fruit punch too sour, sending delicious tingling waves down his spine, driving him crazy when a spherical metal pressed against his palate and teased his own tongue, tickling his senses, and Lovino responded energetically. Together, they entangled, fighting for dominance, as Arthur wrapped his arms around the small waist, snaking one arm up Lovino's slender back and burying his hand in the chocolatey locks, and as Lovino tightened his hold on the cravat, refusing to release Arthur. Eventually, they parted to catch their breath, cheeks flustered and hearts aflutter.

"Fuck the tomato bastard," Lovino mumbled, voice cracking. "Fuck all of this! I want you! I only need you, dammit! Why is everything so fucked up?! Why only _now_?" The Italian's fists clenched and coiled in the fabric of Arthur's shirt, and the blond buried his face into his chest, letting him cry. "If you love me, then why didn't you say so before, bastard?! You're so stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid, _stupid Arthur_!" Suddenly he lost all sense for English and broke into a tangent, muttering incoherent Italian, and all Arthur could do was smile bitterly and stroke Lovino's silky tresses. His heart plunged into his stomach, realizing he had once again made the same mistake... only this time, it seemed ten times worse.

"I've always been the black sheep," Arthur whispered for only Lovino to hear, dropping the gentlemanly tone in favour of something with which he was more comfortable speaking. It wasn't quite his regional dialect, and it wasn't quite the grammatically perfect Queen's English he has always used at school. It was just a voice he rarely used, a voice that was purely himself, a voice in between. "In the pictures, I've always been the odd one out. I never fit in anywhere. I was an obscurity, an obscenity. I was always somewhere I didn't belong. I was always the ruin of something, of someone, and I can't do that to you, Lovino."

"Where the hell did you get that idea?" Lovino grumbled. "You're fucking perfect, bastard. It pisses me off sometimes."

"I'm not perfect, Lovino... Look at me," Arthur mused, lifting Lovino's chin to face him. "I've just sabotaged your honest, innocent relationship with Antonio. I screwed up, botched up, cocked up, and fucked up everything you two had. I'm... I'm sorry. I'm really messed up. I'm sorry."

Lovino narrowed his eyes accusingly. "No," the Italian insisted, "you're not. I dare you to look at me in the eyes and say it again."

"Lovino, honestly, I'm so - "

The Italian pulled him closer for another kiss, fisting the cravat, unrelenting. It was gentler, more of a peck, comforting.

"Say it again," he growled under his breath, daring the blond to repeat his words.

"Lovino, please stop! This isn't right - "

The brunet sealed his lips shut, not wanting to hear more, but at the same time, the touch was gentle... or, rather, more so. It was tender, warm, yes, but there was something else. Something delectable and wonderful and absolutely indescribable. Arthur returned the kiss, pressing back just as lightly, just as lovingly, just as warmly, as gently, giving the younger boy all of his unspoken emotions, all of his love, all of his affection, and everything Lovino wanted and craved. It was a kind of kiss he hadn't had in _years_ - if he had ever experienced such a kiss at all in his life. One more kiss, two kisses, three... All to let Lovino know that, yes, he really did love him.

"Hey, Lovi! I heard you were back here - " Antonio stopped short, witness to the scene he didn't want to see the most. Upon hearing his words, Arthur and Lovino separated. While the former was ridden with guilt, the latter was simply surprised. Antonio, on the other hand, was brimming and seething with vengeance. "You!" the Spaniard spat angrily at the young Englishman. "You son of a bitch!" Unable to express his rage in English, disgusted and abhorred with the language itself, Antonio turned to using his native tongue, shouting and screaming profanities that neither Arthur nor Lovino could decipher. What they did understand was that Antonio was more than just pissed off, he was the epitome of blind fury and wrath. His face was contorted in a miserable madness and ire incomprehensible to the human species.

The Spaniard seemed to stop, waiting for Arthur to respond, but the Briton was eerily silent as though he had been expecting this attack. He stumbled back when Antonio shoved him. "Do something, you fucking bastard!" he screeched. Antonio pulled his fist back, swinging it in the fastest punch Arthur has ever seen from the Spaniard, and without even defending himself, the blond took the hit.

"Antonio! Stop!" Lovino pleaded. He grabbed onto Antonio - his partner, his boyfriend, his _lover_, Arthur admonished himself in pure unconcealed shame - and tried to cease the fighting. However, Antonio shrugged him off.

"Stay out of this, Lovino!" Antonio snapped, turning with a kick to Arthur's stomach. The blond stumbled back yet again, losing his balance momentarily, but he did not fall. This seemed to infuriate the Spaniard even more. "Fight already, goddammit, you fucking piece of shit! I knew there was something wrong with you, but _now_ you won't fight?!" He swung left, he swung right, he jabbed his knee into Arthur's stomach, against the pleas of Lovino. "Do something, you fucking asshole! I thought you were above something so damn low! Why the fucking hell aren't you defending yourself?! Do you feel _sorry_?! For kissing _my lover_?!"

Like bloody hell he could fight back, Arthur thought bitterly as he took another hit. He deserved all of this shit since he couldn't repent and couldn't appease to Carriedo. He could only deal with this vengeful wrath, absorbing it like a sponge, soaking in it, bathing in it, drowning -

_Drowning_.

Arthur gasped, feeling himself breaking the surface tension of the dark waters in the Bonnefoy family's swimming pool, feeling liquid ice swallow him entirely, engulfing him whole and embracing him in its freezing cold cradle like a suffocating newborn. Instinctively, he parted his lips to breathe when his body registered that he could not inhale through his nose, only to gulp a mouthful of chlorinated water. He caught sight of bubbles of oxygen escaping his mouth. He was sinking deeper then. His lungs weren't keeping him afloat any more. Not knowing what else to do, he tried kicking his legs, flailing his arms, but to no avail. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't swim. He couldn't call for help. He couldn't do anything right. His body surrendered at the thought, relaxing his muscles to the coldness, and gradually began to fill his lungs with water that weighed him down like lead.

It was a cold and dark night, perfect for a black sheep. It was the longest night he's ever experienced, really. He wondered briefly, closing his green eyes, if it was the last night he'd ever experience as well.

You reap what you sow, I guess.

* * *

"Why is he not surfacing, you bastard, you fucking dumb as hell tomato bastard?!" Lovino cried, angry tears blurring his vision as he grabbed hold of Antonio's blazer. It's been a second too long since Arthur had tumbled into the dark waters. "He's not fucking coming up to the surface!"

The Spaniard was gradually coming out of his indeterminate fury as fear and terror overtook his features once he realized what had transpired. The door to the backyard burst open then, and Francis and Gilbert slipped into the backyard with a number of curious spectators behind them. Amongst them were Alfred and Matthew, Jia Long, Kiku, and Elizaveta. "What's with all of the noise?" Francis called out. "It's a little too cold for a swim, isn't it?"

Lovino released Antonio then, scrambling to the French pervert he loathed so much, and blurted out, "Can Arthur swim?!"

Francis' eyes darkened. "In all my life, I've never seen him swim once," he said at the same time as Gilbert dove into the pool in full costume.

Alfred and Matthew rushed to the edge of the pool, exclaiming that they were CPR certified. The albino resurfaced, shouting that it was too dark, "I can't see him! I can't find him!" Lovino's stomach filled with dread. Soon Alfred jumped into the pool, too, on the premises that having two people searching was better than one. Two became three when Francis decided that saving the life of his childhood friend was worth more than maintaining his perfect hair, and three became four when the suspense killed Mathias. Four grew to five when even Michelle was no longer able to keep watching the horrifying, heart-wrenching scene filled with nothing but suspense, and five became six when guilt tripped Antonio into diving into the pool as well. Matthew, Lukas, Kiku, and Elizaveta occupied four sides of the pool, shining their light into the dark waters, while Vladimir, Yao, and Roderich were each calling the ambulance even though none of them knew the full story. Winston was whining and whimpering, searching for his master who was not present, as he buried his face under his paws, curling at Lovino's feet. The Italian couldn't bring himself to look at the lost dog, but, still, he bent down and cradled the pup. It was partially his fault as well.

"What did you do?" Jia Long muttered beside Lovino after approaching him. If the Italian thought that that the Chinese boy was scared, he was wrong. Jia Long was fucking terrified. His face had paled considerably even though it was wearing his usual monotone, leveled expression, and his voice trembled as he spoke. For a moment, Lovino was jealous of him. He couldn't even suppress his tremors that well. "No, sorry," he apologized immediately, taking Lovino by surprise, "What happened?"

"_Fratello_!" Feliciano pulled through the crowd with Ludwig close on his tail. "_Fratello_!"

Gilbert resurfaced with Francis and Antonio supporting him with the extra weight. He carried a teenage boy stripped of his heavy red coat and most of the buckles weighing him down, his pirate hat lost to the depths of the pool. "We have him!" the albino announced urgently, "But he doesn't look so good!" Alfred climbed out of the pool with Mathias and Michelle close behind him as the three eased Arthur to those on surface, laying him onto the white tile floor, unconscious, pale, and not breathing.

Winston barked wildly and nearly leapt out of Lovino's hold, but Jia Long prevented the dog from leaping onto his unconscious owner by swiftly catching hold of the leather collar. The Chinese boy adjusted his hold around the middle of the dog so that Winston wouldn't suffocate and sat with his legs crossed. The barks became weak, dissolving into that pathetic whining and whimpering yet again, when he couldn't approach his beloved human. That was when Lovino's defenses broke. He was no better than the bulldog right now. The brunet, losing his strength, leaned against his younger brother's side as a few stray tears slipped from his eyes, his jaw clenched.

"He still has a pulse! Mattie!"

"Right!"

The twins began administering CPR with Matthew on compressions and Alfred on rescue breaths. Lovino watched, horrified, as he watched water spew from Arthur's pale lips. His body trembled as he realized that the blond's lungs were probably filled with water, suffocating him. Tanned fingers furled into fists, knuckles turning white, as the twins completed one cycle, switching places for the next cycle, and the cycle after that and after that and after that. Hope dimmed as the twins were replaced by Gilbert and Ludwig, who copied their actions exactly, having worked as lifeguards at the community pool.

"_Fratello_," Feliciano called softly, "are we going?"

Most of the guests have left now. It's been almost half an hour. The party mood was killed.

Was hope truly lost?

Lovino broke away from Feliciano and approached Arthur. He shoved away Ludwig and pressed his lips against Arthur's icy cold lips, breathing life into his lungs, before commenting, "You went through four guys, slut. Wake up already," trying to hide the fact that his voice was cracking with tears. Still, they fell, rolling down his cheeks and dripping down his chin. The lukewarm tears dropped onto Arthur's nearly frozen skin as he pleaded, "_Svegliati, bastardo... Si prega di svegliarsi..._" Wake up, he begged of the Briton, because in my world, there's only the two of us that matters.


	18. Chapter 18 - Lover's Heart

**Chapter Eighteen: A Lover's Heart**

Feliciano has been avoiding him ever since they had returned home last night, and he wasn't doing a good job about being subtle. If Lovino was being honest, the older twin would have admitted that it was annoying him, but Lovino was never honest on _purpose_. Rather, he couldn't even utter a single word to Feliciano. Instead, he glared at his little brother around the house when Feliciano would always slip away and try to give him the silent treatment.

Now, Grandpa Rome was not a complete idiot. He knew when the brothers were trying to avoid each other, and he knew when it was time to concern himself with the matter. When Lovino stepped into the kitchen to prepare breakfast, his grandfather inquired, "Why is Venezia acting strange, Lovi?"

"Don't call me that," Lovino snapped angrily. His grandfather had taken up the habit of calling him Antonio's stupid little nonsensical pet name since the moment the two of them had met. "Besides, I broke up with him."

Well, that actually wasn't entirely true, but Lovino didn't feel like correcting his statement and hoped that his grandfather would leave him alone. He hasn't had a chance to break up with Antonio. Not yet, anyway. In mere moments after Lovino had begged for Arthur to regain consciousness, the Briton's body had shot upright and convulsed violently, wrecked with coughs struggling for air, as his organs attempted to restore and maintain order. The bastard had vomited the excess water in his lungs, hissing a vehement, "Bloody fucking hell!" Then after the whole fiasco and after calming down his shuddering body, Arthur had whistled for Winston to return to his side, and like a loyal dog, the bulldog had leapt onto his lap, licking away the chlorinated water clinging to his pale skin in adhesive drops. Dripping wet, Arthur had given Lovino an apologetic smile and stood up to leave the party through the back gate after telling Francis to fish out the rest of the costume and to dry the missing articles before returning them. He had spoken as though nothing had happened. Of course, Gilbert and Alfred had nearly tackled him to the ground and made him wait for the paramedics to show up even though the Lion had insisted that he was fine. Then he and Francis had gotten into an argument about hypothermia and pneumonia and whatever else. In all of the chaos, there hadn't been enough time for Lovino to end his relationship with Antonio properly, but he was planning to do so today! First thing in the morning!

Of course, his grandfather didn't exactly sense his state of being and, therefore, was not on the same page and did not exactly share his sentiments. "Oh, Romano!" he cooed, clinging to his oldest grandson immediately after flying to his side. "Are you okay?! What did Antonio do?! Oh, crap, I said his name!" Relapsing into a brief silence, the elder man then recovered and resumed his comforting, "Oh, Romano, are you okay?!"

"He's fine, _Nonno_," Feliciano said as he trudged into the dining room, pouting at the delectable aroma of _caffè e latte _and his brother's delicious bread rolls. The jam and butter had already been set on the table as well, and the grumbling of his stomach betrayed him to his brother's cooking. Sitting down at the table, Feliciano mumbled indignantly, clearly upset, "He's the one who cheated anyway."

Now, while Grandpa Rome was eligible to order from the senior menu at restaurants, his hearing hadn't yet entirely diminished. The elder easily picked up Feliciano's words as did Lovino. "You did _what_?!" exclaimed Grandpa Rome. He stared with disbelief at his oldest grandson, who became as stiff as a board while gently stirring the milk into the coffee, before burying the darker twin back into his torso, wailing in Italian, "No, Lovino! Don't become like _Nonno_!"

"Chigi!" Lovino shrieked, pushing away his grandfather and consequently tipped over his cup of coffee. He cursed under his breath when the mug shattered on the tiles, spilling hot coffee everywhere, and rushed to clean up the mess with a dish rag, ignoring the surprised cries of his family members. He hissed as his finger was cut by a shattered piece, sucking up the blood until he could clot it with a band-aid. Tears pricked at his eyes, but he paid it little mind.

"Roma, are you okay?" his grandfather asked him, reverting to an old nickname he hadn't used since Romano had protested its usage when he was only twelve years old, as he sincerely took his grandson's hands into his older ones. He noticed just how young and vulnerable his poor grandson was now. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," the boy replied curtly, discarding the broken fragments of his mug, "and... I didn't cheat, _Nonno_. It was only a kiss." Lovino flushed in embarrassment. Again he repeated, "It was only a kiss," and hoped that his grandfather hadn't picked up any of the feelings he attempted to conceal or heard his erratic heartbeat. "I didn't have an affair." With that, the older twin gave his younger brother the last cup of _caffè e latte_ before leaving without so much a second word, grabbing only a single roll and shutting the door behind him firmly. Feliciano's eyes flooded with tears, and he hastily rubbed at them.

"Venezia," Grandpa Rome cooed, rubbing his youngest grandson's back. He took a seat beside the boy and asked, "What's wrong?"

"N-_Nonno_," he sobbed, "_Fratello _fell in love with the wrong person! He's only going to get hurt!"

At this, Grandpa Rome's eyes darkened, and grasping Feliciano's shoulder, he said, "Venezia, tell me the entire story." Not having grasped his grandfather's tone, Feliciano nodded and recounted the story of the Rampant Lion of England. He spoke of the Lion's first year of school and how easily Arthur Kirkland had defeated every single delinquent who dared challenged him. He spoke of the Lion's second year of school and how the disciplinary committee was formed. He spoke of the Lion's third year of school and how Lovino had been distant all this time. With every detail he learned, Grandpa Rome was not at all pleased with the delinquent who had sabotaged his grandson's perfectly happy relationship.

Meanwhile, Lovino marched to school unaccompanied for the first time ever, attracting a number of stares and whispers. He ignored them - because, really, was it that weird he was without his brother? - and strolled to his classroom, climbing up the stairs and down the corridor. The moment he entered the classroom, however, his bag dropped to the floor as he stared at the whiteboard in the front of the room, appalled. There, using neon colored markers, was a distasteful message reading, "ARTHUR KIRKLAND, 4:10, AFTER SCHOOL, BACK ALLEY," in graffiti style, tagged with a name Lovino couldn't decipher. The desks in the classrooms were in obvious disarray, flipped over and kicked aside, as though to pave a path to the front board.

"_Che minchia hai fatto, bastardo leone_?" he muttered under his breath, casually picking up his bag and trying to shuffle his way to what he believed to be his desk. He heaved it onto its four legs, much like some of his other classmates who had recovered from their initial shock. He nearly fished his pockets for his phone to call Arthur and demand to know what was going on until he stopped in his tracks and flushed red. Shit, shit, shit, how could he face Arthur after last night? That was so fucking embarrassing! He couldn't call him! He _definitely_ couldn't call him!

"Artie! There's some more up here, too!" a familiar obnoxious voice bellowed. There were some thundering footsteps climbing, or, rather, _stomping_, up the stairs. "I'll take the right side, you go left!"

"Daan't bleedin' tell me wot ter do, ya wanker!"

Barging through the door, the Lion raced to the front and grabbed the board eraser, wiping the message clean off the board. He was still dressed in his motorcycle jacket that he usually removed upon entering the school building, and he hadn't bothered removing his helmet either. When he found that his name was written in permanent marker instead of the typical dry-erase, the Briton cursed and rummaged through the front desks for some kind of cleaning spray. When the blond finally found it, he hurriedly squirted the solution onto the surface of the dry-erase board, scrubbing his name free, while cursing his luck all the while. They still had the rest of this floor and the floor above them to check for vandalism and destruction of school property.

Lovino meekly approached him, grabbing hold of his jacket sleeve, not sure of what else to do, "H-Hey, bastard, what's going on?"

"Things 'ave gone ter Hell," Arthur explained, ripping off his helmet and carrying under his arm, pressed against his side, not even bothering to wear his usual gentlemanly tone. "A bloke almost dies, an' everyone gets da idea that 'e's gotten bloody weak - not da fact that 'e's bleedin' _mortal_ - fucking twats." The blond glowered at the board momentarily as though it was the source of all his problems. His eyes softened at Lovino before he asked in a lower voice, slowly reverting back to that strange, casual voice he didn't even know he had, not until he had met Lovino, that is, "You all right?"

"I should be asking you that, bastard," Lovino returned just as quietly. "Should you be moving around after last night?" His cheeks reddened as he realized the hidden innuendo underlying his words. "I-I mean, you - " Lovino was silenced when Arthur patted his head.

"Good to see you're doing well, innit," the blond mused.

The two of them were broken from their moment when Yao Wang's voice broke through the halls and into the classrooms over the PA system, "Arthur Kirkland to the Student Council Room! _Now_!"

"Blast, well, I'll see you around then?" the Briton questioned of the Italian before marching out of the classroom. Lovino watched as he nearly ran into his younger brother, and he watched as Feliciano averted his gaze away from Arthur. The two Vargas brothers briefly made contact before Feliciano pulled away and marched past a bewildered Arthur. Behind Feliciano was Ludwig, who asked Arthur politely how he was doing. The older student replied just as courteously before leaving the classroom and nominating Alfred for clean-up duty. Arthur then climbed downstairs and navigated through the corridors, sauntering casually into the familiar office. Two years ago, he was constantly called into this office for fighting. Last year, it was to argue about the rights and privileges of the disciplinary committee time after time. Now it was about this mess. "Do you need something, Wang?" Arthur asked nonchalantly as he glanced around the office.

Lien Nguyen was standing behind the Chinese class president as the diligent and dedicated vice president. Michelle was filing away papers, and Émilie was flipping through their balance books. Eduard was scribbling notes on their encounter as they spoke. Wang sighed, rubbing his temples with his thumb and middle finger of his right hand to assuage his headache, and returned Arthur's question with an enquiry of his own, "How are you going to fix this?"

"I haven't a clue," responded the blond blatantly. Arthur didn't see the need to hide this fact. After all, everyone else was perfectly confused as well.

"We had them under control before," Wang muttered. "How did this happen?"

"Because their king almost died," Arthur answered bluntly, "They have to replace it. It won't do to have a weak king." He almost sighed, but he didn't. If he sighed, then it would show how tired he really was, and that could lead to a disastrous conversation with Wang about his mental stability and some other shite. "These brutes are like wolves. If their alpha is weak, they'll fight to assert their dominance."

"I don't like that look in your eyes," Wang commented shortly.

"What look?" Arthur retorted calmly, raising a thick eyebrow in scepticism, as his eyes focused on the equally collected president.

"Well, since you can't see yourself, I guess I'm left with describing it to you," Wang remarked dryly. "It looks like you're about to walk into war as the sacrificial lamb. You have something up your sleeve, don't you?"

"You're bloody brilliant, Wang," Arthur countered, rolling his eyes that dimmed slightly. "Am I that easy to read? I'll be taking leave from class all day then. Be a darling and take my notes for me, will you? I have an appointment at eight, then one at nine, nine-fifteen, nine-thirty, nine-forty-five and ten, a few around lunch, and then a couple right after school. There's one or two dinner dates as well."

"You're seriously thinking about handling all of them?!" Wang exclaimed with incredulity in his dark eyes. "That's crazy!"

"Well, how else am I supposed to solve it?" Arthur retorted calmly, giving the President a dull yet pointed look that wormed its way into Wang's conscience, lacerating his judgement. "I'd really like an answer. Anyway, most of the blokes here aren't even a challenge."

"Individually, no," Wang conceded, "but there is a saying about strength in numbers. Can you handle it? Ten, twenty wolves at a time, Alpha-_xi__ānshēng_?"

"There's another saying that goes, 'You don't know until you try,'" Arthur remarked with a smirk, his words bitter in taste. "I guess I'll have to find out. If it doesn't work, then we'll have to go about it another way. If it does work, then morale would probably lower because I would establish my credibility... again. I've done it once; I can do it again."

Wang rolled his eyes and responded snappishly, "I cannot believe I'm ranked behind a simple-minded idiot."

"You fall behind Kiku and sometimes Heracles as well, you know," Arthur pointed out as Yao Wang fumed alone. The others tried to extinguish Yao's flames of fury, but his anger barely simmered down. Of course, since neither Arthur nor Kiku nor Heracles wished to speak as the top of the class at graduation, maybe they could grant Yao Wang the position when it came to graduation time. Maybe. If Arthur was feeling nice and kind and generous, he would gladly hand over the graduation speech to Yao Wang.

Shame that he didn't catch on with Wang well enough though.

"By the way, Wang, I'm no sacrificial lamb," Arthur mentioned before he pivoted on his head. "I'm the King of Trash, remember?"

* * *

"What are you going to do, Antoine?" Francis inquired as he and his friends were having lunch at the courtyard. It was routine for them to eat out in the open, even when it was freezing cold, under the single cherry blossom tree. Once Antonio had started dating Lovino Vargas, the younger student would usually accompany them as well, but at the start of this school year, he hadn't eaten lunch with them at all. Francis could guess why after a few weeks, more so after his sudden _occasional _reappearance and his sudden declaration to write a challenge letter, but his other friends had sure taken their sweet time thinking about it. Of course, they probably realized where Lovino had been all this time by now.

"What do you mean by that?" Antonio remarked bitterly. "I'm going to apologize for almost killing him by accident, and then I'm actually going to kill him. He kissed my Lovi!"

"Honestly, Toni, I don't think he's _your _'Lovi' anymore," Gilbert mumbled under his breath. The albino barely flinched from his spot on the ground - lying with his limbs sprawled out and about - when he noticed that he was the subject of Antonio's harsh glare. "What? I'm staying out of this conflict. Arthur is as much as my friend as you are although what he did was totally not awesome, and I'm pretty damn sure he knows that, too!"

"_Oui_, I agree as well," Francis admitted. "I will stay out of this affair. As much as I love to help move romances along, this is something you three must settle amongst yourselves."

In other words, nobody wanted to choose sides, so Antonio was left to deal with this alone. That damn _diablo Inglés _had even taken away his friends! Antonio gritted his teeth, cursing all of his misfortunes, and glared furiously at his lunch. All he wanted to do was to protect Lovino. He had seen how low his self-confidence was and wanted to protect him from everyone's jabs. Over time, he saw Lovino as more than a little brother to protect; the Italian was quite endearing with his tomato red cheeks and his little puppy pout. Antonio wanted him to himself. Then that _engendro de Satanás_ came along and corrupted him; Antonio was sure of it!

"Hey, look, it's Artie!" Gilbert cried in a mock ecstatic manner. However, his tone portrayed none of the joy his exclamation suggested. Using the sole of his foot, the German kicked Antonio in the back, sending the Spaniard falling to the ground, planting face-first with his Spanish ass in the air. "Go do something!"

"You can't even let me finish my lunch first, Gil?" Antonio retorted resentfully. He crossed his arms and scowled - though it came off more as a childish pout.

Gilbert flung his arm around, knocking over Antonio's tray of lunch and spilling its contents into the grass, remarking, "What lunch? I don't see any lunch."

When Antonio turned to Francis for help dealing with Gilbert's antics, the young Frenchman turned away and fiddled with his cell phone. Pretending to answer a call, Francis gave his friends an apologetic smile and stepped away, chirping, "_Allô? Ah, ça va? Qu'est-ce que se passe_?" Antonio made a face and stomped away from his supposed friends, following after _el diablo Inglés_, just in time to catch the blond engaging another delinquent with striking red-pink hair styled in some sort of faux hawk. The bright haired delinquent hadn't been able to land a single hit on Arthur, but the Englishman looked worse for wear. His roundhouse kick that sent the delinquent flying wasn't as vigorous as it usually was when the two of them fought.

"Appointment number twenty-two," Arthur spat, kicking the groaning delinquent in the side lightly in a jab, "is done, right?"

He hadn't bothered simply to remember the name of his opponent even! Moreover, that was the twenty-second challenge so far? The day wasn't even over yet! _Dios mío_, this fuckerreally is the spawn of the Devil or his advocate or a demon or just something inhuman! Arthur lumbered off, but there was something amiss in his stride. It wasn't the usual confident stroll Antonio was used to seeing in his rival. He was exhausted and nearly limping. As though to test this theory, he tiptoed past the beaten punk-ass wannabe drowning in his humiliation, defeat, frustration, and whatever other familiar emotions he must be feeling. Silently, he swung his fist at Arthur, but the blond was fast to defend himself by blocking with his arms crossed.

"You were lacking," Antonio commented coldly.

"My apologies," was the sarcastic reply, "I wasn't expecting to be surprised." Arthur gave him a pointed glare and continued to walk away. Antonio followed after him but made little attempt to keep up with Arthur's pace. The young Englishman seemed to be slowing down anyway. When he saw that Antonio wasn't going to leave him be, Arthur asked, "What are you doing?"

"Francisco and Gil wanted me to talk to you," Antonio replied brusquely. He shuffled beside the blond as Arthur was pulling off his leather gloves, noting how his hands were considerably bruised and reddened. It was probably part of the reason why he wore clothing that always concealed his skin; the other part was probably to hide the tattoos that were certainly against school code. Sometimes Antonio and his friends found it amusing that they had chosen a delinquent who claimed to be a gentleman to take care of other delinquents.

"I've nothing to say to you," Arthur mentioned shortly.

"Yeah? You think I want to talk to you, _maldito hijo de puta_?" Antonio snapped angrily. "You kissed my Lovi! You said - you _told_ me - that there was nothing between you - nothing to worry about - and you _lied _to me! I always thought you were a strange person, but I didn't think I had to worry about you stealing away other people's lovers. I thought you were above that at the very least!"

"Yeah, it's my favourite past-time," Arthur responded sardonically, lacing his words with venom. He ran a battered hand through his golden locks, revealing new cuts and grazes on his scalp, before mentioning, "I did say that. I should have kept my words like a true gentleman... but I didn't. I couldn't control myself. For that, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin your relationship, but - " Arthur hesitated.

"But?" Antonio repeated, glaring at the blond.

"But I don't regret kissing him," he confessed.

For that comment, Antonio swung his fist at him again, and just like last night, the blond didn't bother ducking or dodging or blocking. He merely stood, rooted to the ground, and let Antonio hit him - square in the jaw. Again, Antonio shouted, "Why won't you fight back?! Is this some sick form of pity, you demon? You devil, fiend, monster, abomination!" He was running out of words in English and nearly reverted to his mother tongue, but Antonio wanted Arthur to understand him and to understand his pain. "Are you mocking me?!"

"I don't want to fight," Arthur responded, "if I have nothing to protect. It's pointless and a bore. I don't have a relationship with Lovino. I don't have anything but 'the peace and order' of this school given to me by the chairman. Fighting me is worthless, Carriedo, if you already have the one person I want to hold. I have nothing to stake, nothing to win, nothing to lose."

"Now you're just feeding me some bullshit," Antonio snapped angrily, glaring into the eyes of his rival. He found nothing there, no interest, no life, nothing. "You say that you have nothing, but you _do_ have something I've lost - maybe never had - " as much as it pained him to admit it, he wondered if Lovino had ever returned his affections " - you have Lovino's heart. Do you not see it? I may hold his body, but it holds nothing for me! You stole it! You took it from him - from me! - his heart, you devil! It doesn't beat for me; it's yours now!"

Arthur turned away in shame. "I didn't mean to - "

"Don't give me that bullshit!"

"I never wanted to sabotage anything, anyone! It wasn't done on purpose - !"

Antonio lashed out at Arthur, grabbing a fistful of his uniform shirt, glowering dangerously, and seethed, "Whether it was on purpose or by accident doesn't matter, you stupid son of a bitch. What's done is done, don't you understand that? You can't take it back. You can never take it back. It's history. Now you do something about it."

"Wot da bloody 'ell do yew wan' me ter do, dammit?!" Arthur snapped, slapping away Antonio's hands and stumbling back after shoving the Spaniard away. He was tired of fighting, of arguing, of everything that came at odd ends with him. "I can't give i' back, OK?!"

"Would you even give it back?!"

"No, no bleedin' way!" Arthur blurted out indignantly, blocking Antonio's strangling hands expertly, one by one and fending off his forcefulness. "I wouldn't! I won't!" His eyes darkened.

"Why not?!"

"I can't tell you!" Arthur roared, twisting Antonio's arm and pinning him to the ground. He stepped on his back to assert his dominance, daring Antonio to try anything else. "It's fer yew ter 'ear! It's not any ov yaahr bloomin' business ter even know!"

Antonio took a risk and kicked at Arthur, sending the blond stumbling backwards, before quickly reversing their positions and forcing the Lion onto his back. Antonio picked him up by the collar of his shirt. "What do you feel for Lovino?" he hissed.

Arthur returned his glare sevenfold and seethed, "You bloody well know wot I feel," gradually returning to his usual tone. Regaining his bearings, the Lion kicked his legs forth, knocking the Spaniard over, and with all of his strength swung his right leg into the recovering brunet at a ninety degree angle in a perfect roundhouse. He finished his assault with a low kick that borrowed momentum from his prior attack, sweeping the area and making Antonio tumble onto the ground. Before his rival could retaliate, Arthur extended his baton in one fluid motion, whipping the end right at his neck like a sword, spitting out bitterly, "On your toes, Carriedo."

Antonio huffed, smacking away the baton, and stood onto his feet somewhat shakily. "At least you're fighting back now," the Spaniard snapped. "Meet me at the courtyard after school."

"What? No letter?" Arthur remarked.

"I'm not wasting paper on you, demon."

"You're going to have to take a number, you know. There's a line."

The blond was already leaving. Antonio shouted after him, "I'm not waiting! You know I'm better than those other guys! I'll beat them all up and then go after your head! After that, I'll take back Lovi's heart and give it back to him! In the meanwhile, rest up for our fight, you spawn of Satan!"

Arthur waved at him without ever once turning back. Antonio hated how he could look so strong despite the number of injuries on his body and despite his exhaustion. That was twenty-three fights already, and Kirkland still had until the day was over.

* * *

Arthur slipped out his phone to check the time and found a single notification on his lock screen. Sighing, he unlocked his phone, punching in his password with a single hand, and pulled up the message. His eyes skimmed over the text before muttering, "Shouldn't really expect so much from her."

_Arthur, je suis très desolée, mais je dois retourner au travail. Comprends-tu? Je t'aime, mon coeur. Bonne chance avec ton amour! J__e pense à toi et espère que tu te sentiras mieux bientôt__!_

He was late, too. Lunch was almost over. Lovino surely must have left by now.

In the end there was nobody waiting for him, was there?

He was certainly surprised when he opened the door leading to the rooftop.

"You're late, bastard," Lovino greeted him with a deep scowl on his lips. Beside him was an untouched lunch box, still filled with food. His hazel eyes softened upon seeing the injuries covering Arthur's body. There were three scratches on his right cheek and a single cut above his left eyebrow while his knuckles were crusted with dried blood and his wrists and forearms were bruised purple, red, and blue. "_Che minchia hai fatto_?" the Italian blurted out, scrambling to his feet and abandoning his lunch in favor of examining his - friend's? yeah, friend, Lovino thought forlornly - friend's injuries. Clicking his tongue in disdain when he realized there were probably more injuries than what he's seen and counted, the brunet shoved his friend, making the blond stumble in confusion.

"What was that about? You shouldn't be rough with an injured person, you know?"

"You're already hurt enough," Lovino snapped indignantly as he began packing up their lunch, chucking the box into his school bag, "so what's one little shove going to do to you, little baby."

"Where are we going?"

"Stop asking questions and come on!" Lovino barked, snatching hold of Arthur's hand and pulling him down the stairs. Ignoring the curious stares of onlookers, Lovino climbed down three more flights of stairs, dragging the older student behind him, and forced him into the nurse's office on the first floor. When he noticed that the nurse wasn't in her own office, the Italian clicked his tongue in disdain. "Why does this always happen?" He pushed Arthur onto the bed, making the latter laugh that otherworldly, ethereal laugh of his. "W-What, bastard?"

"You're moving awfully fast," Arthur teased, green eyes sparkling like iridescent fairy dust under the sunlight that peeked through the window blinds.

Lovino flushed and was consequently unable to pull his gaze away from the captivating greens. "Chi-Chigi! That's not why I brought you here, bastard!" the Italian snapped, flushing red with embarrassment, as he forced himself to break the contact and dig through the shelves of medicines and ointments. "You're injured! Don't make me hurt you!" He pulled out a bit of gauze, cotton, and antiseptic spray. When he turned, he found that Arthur had already stripped himself of his blazer, sweater, and tie and was in the middling of unbuttoning his shirt.

"Just teasing, little ankle-biter," the Lion mused, humming contently, "just teasing." When he noticed that Lovino was shying away from him, Arthur dropped what he was doing, patted the spot beside him on the bed, smiling softly, and assured the younger, "I won't bite or eat you up, silly boy." Lovino inched closer to the blond and allowed himself to sit beside the lion, stealing only a glance as Arthur slipped off his shirt, blushing furiously as he fiddled with the roll of gauze.

Though he hated to admit it, he was a virgin. Antonio had never gotten too far, always treating him like glass, and the girls he had dated before the Spaniard were during his middle school years when he was still too awkward to have done anything. With Arthur, however, the blond was always somewhere else. He was either faster or on a different level or in another world or universe entirely, and Lovino almost always had to search for him and run after him. He cherished moments like these when Arthur was right in front of him. It really didn't matter if Arthur kissed him or not... Even though a kiss really would be nice.

Subconsciously, his eyes had followed the toned outline of Arthur's lean muscles and traced the pattern of the inked designs on his pale skin, so much like a pristine white canvas stained with dark purple, deep red, rich blue and faint yellow. There was the Tudor rose, Lucy the electric guitar, the lion and the unicorn and the dragon, and the detailed Jolly Roger being shredded by sirens and mermaids. Lovino's eyes followed up Arthur's neck and down his jawline, lingering on those pale lips.

He flushed at the memory. He had kissed Arthur more than four times. And he had initiated them all even though the blond made it pretty clear that he was experienced by the end of the first kiss! How come he hadn't backed down, dammit?! He probably embarrassed himself in front of the lion bastard again!

"What are you staring at now?" Arthur teased again, flicking Lovino's forehead playfully. "You accuse me for spacing out, but I think you have your fair share of moments as well!"

Lovino narrowed his eyes in slight agitation, pout on his plush lips that Arthur rather fancied devouring right about now, and sprayed antiseptic onto his wounds on retaliation. Arthur winced at the acidic burn stinging his injuries, pricking his nerves, before Lovino bandaged his hands. "What were you doing, bastard?" the Italian inquired with genuine concern in his eyes. "Something stupid, I bet."

Arthur cracked a grin at that. "You know me so well," he replied light-heartedly, not wanting to sober the mood. "I was taking care of the graffiti problem we were having. All of the classrooms were vandalised, and I was just cleaning up."

"That requires fighting?" Lovino remarked bitterly.

"You've seen the contents of the message in your classroom," Arthur murmured. Lovino froze. Cleaning up the graffiti also meant that he was taking care of the problem. The problem was the challenge messages left for Arthur Kirkland. There were more than eighteen classrooms in the main building alone. Then there was the elective building to consider as well as the sports room. "What do you think I was doing? Having tea with the Queen?"

Lovino tightened the gauze, making Arthur cringe at the mild pain, before glaring pointedly at the blond. "How many fights?"

"Around..." Arthur stopped to think, counting on his fingers for a moment, before answering, "Twenty-two... Twenty-three, I think."

"_Ventitré_!" Lovino exclaimed. "How are you still alive, bastard?!"

"Skill?"

"Like hell." The Italian cracked a smile that quickly vanished to be replaced by concern. He chided the blond being, "You still haven't eaten lunch. At this rate, all you're going to do is burn through calories you haven't consumed."

Arthur gave Lovino a smirk. "I guess that means I ought to eat a big dinner," the blond mused.

"Not with that empty kitchen, you won't!" Lovino remarked. "And not with your crap cooking either!"

"At least I can eat it," Arthur reasoned. In response, Lovino shook his head adamantly and sprayed antiseptic all over the wounds on his torso, making the blond hiss in pain. "You did that on purpose again, didn't you?"

The younger boy rolled his eyes, cautiously placing the cotton on the injuries and wrapping up the injuries with the gauze. He avoided touching Arthur's skin; God only knows what he would do if he laid a hand on those muscles. "Of course, it was on purpose, _idiota_," Lovino remarked with a playful smirk rivaling that of Arthur's on his lips. "You want to get your wounds infected? Anyway, you might be able to eat it because that's because you've killed your taste-buds. I won't let you unknowingly poison yourself."

"Oh? So what do you suggest?" Arthur retorted, grabbing hold on Lovino's wrists and pulling him to eye level and forcing him to stare into those playful eyes glimmering with fairy-like mirth. "Chinese takeaway? Indian cuisine? Order pizza maybe?"

Gulping, Lovino tried replying in an even voice, remarking, "Chinese take-out has too much oil, you'll probably get hemorrhoids if you eat spicy food too much, and eating too much pizza can make you fat."

"There's no scientific proof that eating hot chilli peppers can result in haemorrhoids, git," Arthur retorted, "and who says that all Indian foods are spicy? But, if it makes you happy, what do you suggest?"

Lovino flushed shyly and, losing his earlier confidence, averted his eyes from Arthur's glimmering greens. He spluttered nervously, "I-I... I could c-come over a-after work a-and... and c-cook."

Arthur's smirk faded into a tender smile. The blond leaned closer to Lovino and pressed his lips to his forehead, musing, "That sounds divine. I'm looking forward to it." He watched warmly as Lovino leaned closer, and just when he was millimetres away from reaching Arthur's lips, the blond turned his head so that his soft lips were pressed against the three scratches he received from some bloke wearing titanium rings. When he met with Lovino's bewildered gaze, Arthur's heart sunk slightly. This wasn't how he wanted things either, but, nevertheless, he stroked Lovino's rich brown tresses and said, "It's not proper to kiss someone else when you have a boyfriend, Lovino."

Lovino's eyes darkened, and he pulled his eyes away from Arthur. He hadn't seen Antonio all day. Was the Spaniard avoiding him like Feliciano? That... That made everything harder. He just wanted to fix things the way they should be so that nothing would be fucked up anymore. Lovino kept his gaze downcast as Arthur threw on his shirt and rearranged his clothes.

He felt a forefinger raising up his chin and met with faintly glistening green eyes. "Chin up, little ankle-biter," the Lion whispered, pressing a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Everything will be all right. I promise."

* * *

**A/N:** I'm not killing off Arthur any time soon, but the story is half-way done! There are several other problems that have to be worked out, after all.


	19. Chapter 19 - Dinner Dates

**Chapter Nineteen: Dinner Dates**

"Feliciano, tell _Nonno _that I'll be home late," Lovino told his younger brother. The youngest Vargas' eyes darkened in concern, but he said nothing as his older brother walked out of the door of the classroom. Even though he knew that Lovino could easily send their grandfather a text, Feliciano was certain that Lovino only wanted him to hear his words in person. This silent treatment that Big Brother Francis had shown him wasn't that effective, was it? Feliciano only felt more and more hurt the more time passed.

It was like his opinion didn't matter to Lovino anymore. He didn't want Lovino to get hurt, and the Lion was surely dangerous! After all, who could tame such a ferocious beast? Feliciano tucked his books into his bag before running out of the door, oblivious to the concerned expression Ludwig had given him. The younger Vargas dashed down the stairs, nearly tumbling down the stairs, and tried catching up to his older brother. However, instead of running directly to the main entrance, Feliciano had decided to cut through the courtyard and was witness to seeing the Lion and Antonio circling each other like two predators.

Feliciano hid behind a pillar, not wanting to get involved but too curious to walk away, and peeked at the scene. The Lion was already injured, a few band-aids were plastered on his cheek and one above his eyebrow, and his hands were wrapped in gauze. Feliciano wondered just why he was going to fight when he was already so badly hurt, but he supposed it was carnal or primal instinct. For some people, like Ludwig's big brother, backing down from a fight or a challenge was like having to flush a dead pet fish down the toilet. You can do it since it wasn't impossible, but Feliciano supposed would hurt - a lot - especially when it concerned pride and whatnot.

"You _do_ know what you are fighting for, right?" Antonio asked of the beast across from him. The Lion's green eyes flashed dangerously like bolts of lightning as he narrowed them into a glare, sharpening his gaze and piercing it through Antonio's body like poisonous daggers, obviously affronted. "Just making sure that you take it seriously."

"I'm insulted," the blond seethed, "that you would think of me that lowly. I'm not wagering anything, Carriedo, because he and his heart are not prizes. Whatever he chooses, I will follow through with it. The only thing on the line here is my pride and dignity, understood? _You _ought to be the one to take this even more seriously."

"_Sí, sí_," Antonio responded casually, "I shall stake my respect and honor then, but I'm going to let you know that I won't lose this time." As though to keep and prove his word, in the blink of an eye, Antonio closed the distance between him and the Lion with a powerful charge.

However, his opponent was quick to block the right swing aiming for his face with his arms. Antonio used this chance to ram his other fist into the Lion's stomach, and when the blond instinctively flinched and bent over, Antonio rammed his right fist upwards into his opponent's chin. Without giving him a chance to retaliate, Antonio continued to alternate his punches before kicking the Lion aside and placing distance between them again. Not once had the Rampant Lion toppled over from the blows. He did, however, wipe the blood from the corner of his lips, smearing it against his white skin as he recomposed himself and stood tall, glaring pointedly at Antonio.

"What's wrong? You're not fighting back," Antonio taunted him, lost in the spirit of the battle.

"You want me to fight back?" the blond hissed, spitting out a wad of blood into the grass. "I'll fight back." He unhooked the baton and the whip from his belt, dropping them both onto the ground, and chucked two pairs of handcuffs on top of them while Antonio courteously waited for him to finish. As soon as he was done, Antonio charged at him again, but the Lion had expected this and was already blocking the right hook with a single hand. The left swing aiming for his stomach was quickly blocked, and the transfer of momentum sent Antonio over the Lion's shoulder, flipping him onto the ground. Before the Lion could pin him, however, Antonio swept his leg underneath him, causing the blond to lose his balance.

"I know all of your tricks," Antonio spat while Arthur regained his footing.

"You obviously don't know them well enough," the blond remarked. As Antonio moved to kick him, his opponent countered with his own kick - a perfectly straight high kick that propelled the Spaniard back a few paces - and brought his foot crashing down on Antonio's shoulder blade, purposely missing the head. With the sole of his boot, he pinned the Spaniard onto the ground. Antonio tried to push his body back up with his arms, but the Lion kept him down every time he tried with glowering green eyes, "You might have known me since primary school, but you've a lot to learn if you think you can best me at fighting. I can't afford to lose to the lot of you here."

"You can never beat your brother, and you can never protect Lovi," Antonio snapped. It was a low blow as well because Feliciano saw a flash of mortality in Arthur's eyes. The lukewarm droplets clung to his green eyes like drops of mildew on green leaves as he willed himself not to shed his tears. The moment was quickly lost, however, as Arthur moved the sole of his boot from Antonio's shoulder to the back of his head, making the Spaniard eat a mouthful of dirt.

"I'm not trying to beat him," the blond muttered, inaudible to anyone's ears but his own, under his breath. "I've never tried to beat him; it just came out that way." Speaking louder, he snapped at the Spaniard, "At least I'm not stunting Lovino's growth." He marched away from Antonio, picking up the weapons that he had abandoned, and exited the scene.

Feliciano stepped away from the pillar and jogged to Antonio, calling for the Spaniard, "Antonio! Toni!" The older brunet sat upright, wiping his mouth clean and smiling at the younger Vargas brother. It wasn't quite whom he was expecting, but beggars couldn't be choosers, he guessed. Feliciano knelt on the ground as concern glazed over his coppery eyes. "Are you okay, ve?! Why did you try to fight him?!"

"You know, Kirkland used to be weaker when he was younger," Antonio mused aloud as he began tracing patterns in the soil with his finger. Feliciano watched as he doodled in the sand, drawing the outline of a small lion cub. It was crude and simple like a child's portrait, and Feliciano had to remind himself that Antonio wasn't in any art classes or clubs. He was an athlete, after all, on the football team. "You really can't tell anymore. Even Francisco used to be able to beat him in a fist fight, and I'm sure that, if you had known him back then, you might have been able to beat him, too."

Feliciano's eyes widened. "Ve, Toni? What are you trying to say? What are you talking about?" the smaller brunet inquired in bewilderment.

Antonio chuckled and chirped, "Good question, Feli!" Suddenly, tears began spilling from his eyes, but still he laughed even when Feliciano was panicking. "I don't even know anymore!" Antonio cried. The Spaniard tried making his words seem like an amused exclamation, and for the most part he succeeded. However, Feliciano's concern hadn't depleted one ounce. "Since when did that kid get so strong?" Antonio mused aloud. That, of course, was not his concern. Arthur's strength had little to do with anything. It was probably, the Spaniard mused, his hidden resolve. That devil would do anything to make sure that he reached his goal, accomplished his mission, executed his objective, etc. etc.

And every single time, it was never something for himself.

Antonio knew that Arthur simply fought him because the Spaniard had asked for it, and he knew that Arthur didn't lose because it wouldn't have made Antonio pleased to fight a rigged match. The blond's honor, pride, respect, and dignity was everything he treasured, and Arthur Kirkland - for a demon, devil, fiend, abomination, monster, lion, beast - despite being so pessimistic and cynical treasured his world. Everything was precious and dear to him. They had known each other for a long time, after all. They may not have known each other as long as Francis had, but they were long-time rivals and forever will be rivals.

Antonio hadn't realized how far ahead Arthur was of him though. The blond was already far into the future, in another world, in another universe, maybe even in another dimension, and the Spaniard worried that Lovino may not be able to bring him back. If neither Arthur nor Lovino could close that distance, it would only end in heart break. That was the last thing Antonio wanted - especially for his beloved Lovi.

"Hey, Feli," Antonio rubbed at the irritating drops blurring his vision and asked curiously, "where's Lovi? Is he working today?"

"I-I think so, _sì_," Feliciano answered immediately. "He said that he was going to be home late though. Maybe he's working overtime." The last statement was more to assuage his worries and to assure himself that Lovino wasn't going to get himself into trouble. The younger Vargas brother hadn't successfully convinced himself yet though, and he had originally planned to follow after his brother until Ludwig had found him and Antonio. The younger Beilschmidt brother gave Antonio a dumbfounded expression before cautiously asking if the older boy was okay. After all, Antonio was covered in dirt, blood, sweat, and tears.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Antonio replied merrily, giving Ludwig a wide grin that stretched across his face reaching ear to ear. "Thanks for worrying, _amigo_. I'm just going to clean up before we practice for our last game of the season. You guys coming to cheer?"

"We'll try our best to make it," Ludwig told him.

"That's good! You guys are in the news club, right? I guess you kind of have to come anyway!" Antonio chirped, standing up and patting the boys on their back. "I'll see you around, no?"

"Feliciano, are you ready to study for the mathematics test tomorrow?" Ludwig asked his friend skeptically. He wasn't particularly expecting an affirmative answer though.

"Ve, we have a math test tomorrow?"

His point exactly.

* * *

Lovino shuffled through his locker fervently, changing into his school uniform in exchange for the pizzeria's dress while scrolling through his phone for any new messages. When he realized that he still hadn't received Arthur's phone number after all this time, the Italian nearly flung his phone halfway across the room. Ah! Lovino clicked his tongue in disdain as he admonished himself, pulling angrily at his hair once or twice, How could I be so stupid?!

The brunet recomposed himself, but he still wore that angry scowl. Then again, that wasn't anything new to anyone who was acquainted with him, so Lovino marched out of the locker room as he was. He bid his boss and co-workers goodbye before bumping into a firm chest. Lovino cursed in Italian under his breath and raised his enraged eyes to meet with a familiar pair of green.

"T-Tomato bastard," Lovino greeted stiffly.

At this Antonio gave a weak smile. "I'm not going to hurt you, Lovi," the Spaniard mused, running a hand through his already messy hair. Judging by the stench, Lovino supposed he had just gotten out of football practice without even showering. "I just wanted to talk."

"R-Right," Lovino agreed. "I have something to tell you, too, tomato bastard." It wasn't the first time Lovino had ended a relationship, but it was definitely the first time he had done it in public. Was it karma? How did karma work again? Whatever. At any rate, it wasn't good.

"How long have you been in love with Arthur?"

"C-_Che _- Wh-wha - ?" Lovino couldn't even get the words out of his throat in any language. The heat crawling up his neck and staining his cheeks probably burned them all. Embarrassment overwhelmed Lovino as he tried to recall the exact date but couldn't, failed, and questioned why did it even matter when the whole entire fucking mess started. Pursing his lips together, he reluctantly confessed to Antonio, "I... I don't know. I realized during summer vacation, but maybe it happened when we first met. He was... a strange bastard. Different from what I thought. Nicer than what I expected." Lovino smiled at the memory, nostalgia overwhelming him. "He was really weird, but not the way you told me he was. I couldn't tell if he was a moron or just batshit insane. I still don't know. The bastard's a fucking mystery, but I can't help but indulge. I want to know more about him." Suddenly, he remembered to whom he was speaking and frowned again. "Why are you asking?"

"That long, huh?" the Spaniard mused. There was a brief lapse of silence, where Lovino shuffled awkwardly and Antonio was simply contemplating about his approach. The older boy then gestured to the street, suggesting that they walk and talk, and Lovino resigned to the action. He was going to Arthur's apartment to cook, after all, and he sure as hell didn't need to waste time talking to the tomato bastard in the middle of the street. "I challenged him again, you know, just a few hours ago," the Spaniard mused aloud with a carefree smile on his lips. It was a genuine smile, untouched by any emotion other than content, that rather baffled Lovino. Why would the bastard be happy about fighting someone? Unless he won. Did he win? But nobody could win against Arthur! "I lost." See?!

"The fuck are you smiling about then?"

"I thought it was funny. About six, seven years ago when we were still in primary school, anyone could beat him up and rough him up a little bit. He had came from England, some place where they had a really thick accent, and there were people who made fun of him for it because you could never understand what he was saying. It didn't even sound like proper English! Even Gil, who used to be made fun of because he was albino, participated to feel like the bigger man," Antonio explained, "but all of a sudden, in a blink of an eye, he started retaliating. It was about three years after his transfer, probably. I remember thinking, 'How on earth could that happen? What the heck happened to this kid?' He wasn't all that strong still, but it was pretty unbelievable.

"Then, just out of the blue, Gil announced to us that wanted to be his friend because he thought the way Arthur was acting was pretty damn funny, and Arthur was cool with that. Plus, he was one of the few kids who didn't make fun of Gilbert, but I guess it was because he was always reading a book instead of playing with the others at recess or eating a meal at lunchtime. It kind of pissed me off since Francis had known him for a while already, had some weird history, I guess. I thought he was stealing my best friends." At this, Antonio laughed. Lovino rolled his eyes. The bastard was laughing alone. "Anyway, Arthur got stronger and stronger every day, and ever since two years ago, he was unbeatable, undefeated, and invincible. I thought he was taking steroids for a few months, but then I remembered meeting his brother."

Lovino paused in his steps, faltered, and stared at Antonio flabbergasted.

"Alistair is about four years older than Arthur, and he was worse than anyone else on the playground when it came to pushing around Arthur. He probably still is worse than anyone else when it comes to pushing around Arthur," the Spaniard confessed. "He came to school to pick him up one day seven years ago, said that toughening up Arthur was his job, and killed everyone with just his eyes! That was the only time I met him, and I didn't ever want to see him again. So when Arthur got stronger, I figured, 'Ah, maybe that brother finished with his job,' but then I realized that something must have happened between them." Antonio's eyes darkened. Lovino didn't like it. It was similar to the look in his eyes when he had warned Lovino to stay away from or be careful around Arthur. It never meant anything good. "Something did happen. Arthur came to school all beaten, battered and bruised one day a few months after our first year of high school started, and all Hell broke loose like it did today. People started challenging him one by one, group by group, thinking that he finally got weaker, that someone finally beat him and dethroned the King of Trash. They were wrong. Arthur was stronger than ever, and Gil, Francisco, and I... We think it's his brother."

Antonio stopped walking. He turned to face Lovino and grabbed his shoulders. "What I am about to tell you can never be told to anyone else, Lovi, okay?" the Spaniard whispered. "I said that he came to school beaten, battered and bruised, right? Two years ago, Francisco found Arthur off the streets, took him in for a few days, and learned that he wasn't allowed back home. A few days later, I heard a woman came for him, claiming to be his benefactor, and gave him a home or a place to stay. I don't know the full story, but even if I did, that especially is not mine to tell. I am only recounting my experiences with you, Lovi."

It coincided with the story Arthur had told him at the theme park. He was disowned.

"W-Why are you telling me this?" Lovino inquired of Antonio. "I... I thought you hated him."

Antonio scratched his head and smiled sheepishly. The Spaniard resumed walking and confessed, "Hate is too strong of a word. Immensely dislike is more appropriate. I may not like that demon, and I may think that he's a fishy character... But he is my rival, and... I know he is a good man at heart as you've said. Deep in his heart... Deep, deep, _way_ deep in his heart, anyway. I remembered that today when we were fighting. I know he doesn't want to hurt anybody, but that doesn't mean that he can't. He _can_, Lovi. He can hurt people - intentionally or unintentionally - he can." Antonio placed a hand over his heart and gave Lovino a weak smile. "He took you from me, didn't he? So I'm ending this relationship. If being with _el diablo Inglés _makes you happy, then I am fine with it... Just be careful. If you need anything, don't hesitate to come to me or even Francisco or Gil for help. Some mysteries are better left unsolved, no?"

Lovino frowned. "I don't regret anything," he asserted, "and I won't either."

Antonio laughed and mused, "I was afraid you would say that."

"You... Are you going to be okay?"

Antonio grinned. "If _Kirkland _could take you away from me, maybe it wasn't meant to be. Who knows? I'll be fine," the Spaniard responded nonchalantly with a casual shrug. "This is the way to his apartment, right? _L'Oiseau Bleu _or whatever?"

"Y-Yeah."

"Must be a change," Antonio mused. "Francisco said that he used to move around a lot, switching one small apartment for another. It must be nice though - living it up in a penthouse. I've never been myself, being his rival and all."

Lovino didn't mention that it was practically empty aside from the basic furniture and necessities. Instead, he said, "Thanks, tomato bastard... For being so understanding."

"As long as I still get to be your big brother."

"Cheh."

Lovino and Antonio shared a moment of silence before Antonio turned the corner to leave for his own home. Alone, Lovino wondered just how little he knew about Arthur. The other three had history, sure, but did Arthur consider him a trustworthy person? Maybe it was just hard for him to talk about it, but, still, Lovino had almost shared his entire life story with the bastard! Well, it can't be helped, he guessed. If Arthur didn't want to share with him, it's fine -

Okay, like hell it is. Arthur was always helping others, but why can't he help himself? It's like he was torturing himself, and Lovino couldn't stand by and watch anymore. After giving his greetings to _Signorina _Jane, Lovino pounded angrily on Arthur's front door and waited impatiently for the blond to answer. When Arthur didn't respond right away, Lovino was about to beat on the door yet again until it jerked open and a sharp green glare wormed its way out of the crack formed by the door. The green softened from its hard emerald state to the soft and gentle sway of grass blades.

"Oh, it's you," Arthur mused before opening the door wider. Lovino's cheeks flushed for who-knows-what. He could have been enraged at Arthur's response; he could have been embarrassed for his own behavior. As though sensing Lovino's distress, the blond pulled Lovino into the apartment himself, closing and locking the door behind him, and embraced him tightly, making the flush deeper into a brilliant shade of red, from behind. The Lion buried his face in Lovino's rich brown tresses, wrapping his arms around Lovino's front, as the two of them stood in the middle of the doorway. In a voice that was considerably more serious but still soft and gentle, the blond inquired of his friend, "Did something happen?"

"Antonio broke up with me on the way here."

Well, shit, that wasn't how he wanted it to come out, and that certainly wasn't what he wanted to say right off the bat either. What happened to confronting Arthur, dammit?

He felt Arthur exhale shakily against his hair, and in a strained voice, the blond asked Lovino, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Lovino responded calmly, reaching for one of Arthur's hand and holding it assuringly. He gave it a little squeeze, hoping that his touch was comforting. The blond's hands were always freezing, and Lovino wanted nothing more to warm the older boy, make him feel safe and secure, because he wondered just how many times Arthur had been abandoned for him to be this cold. "It was mutual. I just feel a little bad that it had to end this way, but it was my fault." After all, he was the one who kissed Arthur. He was the only one who initiated the kisses; Arthur had only returned his affections. "It was all my fault."

"No," Arthur argued, pressing a gentle kiss behind his ear, "you can't take all of the blame. If I had stayed away from you, none of this would have happened, and you would still be with Carriedo."

"Don't stay it like it's a good thing," Lovino snapped softly, feeling all the strength to shout being sapped right out of him in this embrace. "I would have never been happy like that. It would be a one-sided relationship, and that's not good for either party, is it? I... I only care for him as a brother, and he sees me as something to be protected, sheltered, and guarded."

Arthur hummed. "I can see why," the blond mused.

Lovino's eye twitched slightly. "_Che cazzo dici, bastardo_?"

"Calm yourself, little ankle-biter," Arthur coaxed, relinquishing Lovino from his hold and pulling him to the sectional, where Winston and Elizabeth were curled together sleeping. They sat away from the pets so not to disturb them, and Lovino caught sight of some recorded concert playing on TV featuring old men with long hair. He briefly saw the words "reunion concert" somewhere on the screen but was soon distracted when Arthur spoke, turning to face the blond, "Having been around you for so long, Carriedo probably saw your lack of self-worth and value. He didn't want you to break any more, so he started protecting and sheltering you from the world." Arthur gave Lovino a sarcastic little smile meant for the Spaniard. "I don't think like that." When Lovino's eyes widened slightly in mild panic, Arthur took it as his cue to explain, "When something is broken, you don't leave it be and try to prevent it from getting worse. You fix it and make it better."

"I-I'm not - "

"I know," Arthur assured, "you're not a toy or a cup or any other material item. You're a person with a heart and a soul and a body, but I can't stand to see you hurt any more. Your heart and soul are so cracked, and so is mine. I can keep you safe, and I can protect you from physical harm... But I'm not confident in my mental stability. You know I have tempers. You've seen them once or twice or maybe even three times - I don't know. What I do know is that I can't be there all the time. That's how the world works; it's how reality is. I'm not expecting you to defend yourself or to take all of the blows either, and I definitely don't expect you to get stronger in a short while." The blond paused, searching his next words. "What I'm trying to say is that I'm not going to be like Carriedo. I can't treat you like a doll. It's... It's not in my nature to be that gentle."

"B-But you're always so - " Lovino waved his hands about, scouring his mental dictionary for the perfect word to describe Arthur when he was being considerate of other people but still distant, as though he could catch the word physically. His actions made Arthur crack a smile, and in return, Lovino blushed. " - you know!"

"Polite?" Arthur suggested.

"Yes! That!"

Green eyes darkened slightly into a shade of a lush forest at night time. "It's a defence mechanism," Arthur found himself saying, "so that I won't hurt people and they won't hurt me. You know the Golden Rule, right? Treat others as you would have them treat yourself. It's not being gentle, per se, but it is safe - a mutual agreement, I guess. By being polite, I can keep others distant. They won't question anything I do, but with you... I don't want to keep you far from me, honestly."

His green eyes flashed like lightning, dangerously and yet so enchanting, that Lovino had unknowingly leaned closer. His words brushed against the shell of Lovino's ear in a soft, seductive whisper even though there was only the two of them in that room, teasing him, "If it was entirely possible, I would have want you all to myself, so that nobody else would admire you. I have that possessive kind of love." He wrapped an arm around Lovino's shoulders, sliding it down to his waist, and pulled the brunet closer. "Still, I never want to hurt you, and if by doing that, if it made you unhappy, then I wouldn't do it at all. If you were ever to break, I would help you put the pieces back together. Even if I can't, I would try. I would help you stand up on your feet and be stronger because, Lovino, you are already so strong."

"What the hell are you saying, bastard?" Lovino retorted, cheeks red. "I'm always running away and taking the easy route, and you know that! You called me out on it, remember? That's the reason why I went out with the dumb tomato bastard! He was safe and wouldn't hurt me! He _couldn't_ hurt me!"

"Yes, I know," Arthur acquiesced with a subtle smile, "and I'll say it again: I'm not like Carriedo, Lovino. I can't guarantee that I won't hurt you and that there won't be any rough times ahead. I can't smile at everything that happens to me and laugh it off. I'm a Lion, and it's in my nature to fight everything and anything that stands in my way - even you." Arthur gave him a faint smile. "Little ankle-biter, you're the first person ever to want to stay by me even though I can hurt you, rip you to shreds, and eat you up. I think you are strong, or, at least, you can be. You stayed with me on the rooftop that day we met, remember? You didn't run away, and whenever I think about it," Arthur smiled, "it makes me happy. The others never stayed long, and this... This is fresh, new, and I want it to last."

"You're a fucking dangerous bastard," Lovino agreed, ignoring the part where Arthur had mentioned his past lovers. It wouldn't be a smart move to confront him about that right now, especially when Lovino had ex-lovers as well and especially after they were talking about his break up that had happened barely twenty minutes ago. Blushing, the brunet added, "But you won't hurt me. I know you won't. You wouldn't want to hurt anyone. Not on purpose. I... It's.. It's comforting to be around you because of that. Have more confidence in yourself, and... and I-I'll try to do the same." He could feel steam shooting out of his ears from all of the heat rising to his head. Lovino shoved Arthur away, stammering, "W-W-W-What k-kind of s-s-shit are y-you m-m-making m-me say, b-b-b-bastard?!"

Arthur burst out laughing, resting his forehead on top of Lovino's shoulder. "I really want to kiss you right now," the blond confessed. His words did nothing to ease the pounding in Lovino's chest.

"T-Then do it, bastard."

"Mm," he hummed lightly, shortly, and then replied, "I'm a dangerous bastard. Are you sure?"

"F-Fucking hell," Lovino choked out as the blond began snaking his arms around Lovino. One held onto his hip, rotating him around and pushing him forward, while the other strayed up his back and to the back of his head. "J-Just do it already! Y-You don't need to ask for permission, dammit!"

Arthur laughed again, the sound tickling his ears like the light steps of fairies dancing, before pressing his lips against Lovino's in a soft, succinct peck. "I don't want to scare you," he admitted, his green eyes softening into the calm waves of the Aegean sea, liquid emerald. Arthur blinked away his tears. "I don't want to lose you."

Lovino reached out and cradled his face, pulling him for another gentle kiss. His eyelashes fluttered against the pale cheek as he kissed away the drops of tears again and again. "I'm not going to leave," Lovino promised. "Not ever again."

Lovino was taken by surprise when Arthur swallowed his lips, pushing him down on the sofa, but closed his eyes, drowning in the happiness flooding his veins, as he reached out to wrap his arms around Arthur's neck and brought the blond closer. He fell deeper and deeper until he felt Arthur's cool touches slipping under his shirt. He moaned at the sensations tracing his skin, but pleaded for Arthur to stop when the motions strayed lower. The blond obliged, of course, giving Lovino a glimpse of those concerned emeralds. The Italian flushed and held onto Arthur's hand as though to prevent him from running away.

"I... I've..." Lovino swallowed the embarrassment clogging up his throat. "I've never done - " he struggled with the word slightly before simply blurting out whatever was to come " - _it _before." Turning away from Arthur with a red face and shame in his eyes, Lovino faced the TV and found that the concert had transitioned into another song.

Of course, he didn't look for too long. Arthur grabbed him by the chin, pressed a kiss to his swollen lips, and told him, "It's nothing to worry about. I haven't forced you to do anything you haven't wanted to do before, have I now? I'll wait however long you want, little ankle-biter." His stomach grumbled. "How about dinner?"

Lovino smiled in laughter, whacking a throw pillow at the head of tousled blond hair, and snapped playfully, "You bastard! I'm guessing you don't have anything in your fridge either!"

"Just some ale," Arthur confessed.

"You could have told me to drop by the market," Lovino grunted indignantly.

"I wanted to go together." Arthur gave him a shy smile, and Lovino just wanted to hold him then and there for looking so fucking adorable. "Can't we?"

"As long as you give me your phone number, bastard."


	20. Chapter 20 - The Grandfather

**Chapter Twenty: The Grandfather**

It was well into November by now. In fifteen days' time, Antonio hadn't stopped and confronted Arthur for another fight, and their friendship with the other two Bad Friends was scavenged and repaired. Jia Long had stopped giving Lovino Hell about leading Arthur on, and Lovino would always stop by to visit Arthur on the roof for lunch and at his apartment for dinner, breaking into a new, comfortable routine. All was fine. All was well. All was normal - except for Lovino's relationship with his _fratellino_. Feliciano was adamant as ever on following Lovino around to make sure that he wasn't in any trouble.

Right after club activities, he would report to Pizzeria Romana and study there with the potato head and sometimes a few other of his friends (mostly the potato head though, Lovino noted with disdain). Then when Lovino got off work, he would try to follow him to Arthur's place, where Lovino had gotten into a habit of cooking dinner - because, dammit, the bastard had a five star kitchen but shitty culinary skills - until Ludwig had to reason with Feliciano that it was rude to tag along other people on their dates. Although Lovino flipped at the word "date" and although he would never admit it aloud, the older Vargas brother was somewhat grateful to the potato eater for taking his brother home. Of course, Feliciano wouldn't leave quietly. The younger twin had made his brother promise twenty-fucking-thousand times that he would call when he got to Arthur's and call when he was leaving and call when he got home even though he would already be at home.

Feliciano was driving Lovino crazy, but if there was anything that threw Lovino off track even more, it was the fact that he didn't have a single clue what he and Arthur were anymore. It was obvious they weren't just friends - because he doubted friends kissed like how they did and had intentions like they did - but Arthur had never once called Lovino his lover or boyfriend or said that they were dating. Maybe Lovino was worrying over nothing. Maybe all of this was trivial; after all, it didn't really matter _what _they were as long as they were comfortable with each other. Lovino was fine with that since he would be with Arthur, his more-than-a-friend, so he leaned into Arthur's hold while stroking Elizabeth's autumn colored coat. Neither of them paid attention to what was on the television, nor did they bother to take their empty dishes to the sink.

"I have interviews over the weekend," Arthur told his friend as he counted on his finger. "Two, maybe three, of them, I believe. I'm flying to England after school tomorrow, and I'll be back by Monday night."

That was also a problem. Arthur was still in the admissions process for some university in Cambridge, England. When the time comes, he will have to fly and leave Lovino here in Hetalia for a good majority of the year. Knowing how Arthur had familial problems on this island, he probably wouldn't fly back, would he? Lovino didn't know. It was one of the many things he didn't know about his more-than-a-friend.

"You'll still be at school Friday?" Lovino inquired curiously, peering at his blond companion. The Lion let out an almost comical yawn and stretched his limbs. He must have had a long day dealing with the usual shitheads and more.

"I'll still be at school Friday," Arthur confirmed, "but not Monday."

"Knock them dead, bastard," Lovino replied, snuggling closer to the blond and pressing a shy kiss to his cheek. Blushing red, he stuttered, "U-_Un bacio di buona fortuna_!" Upon realizing that he had used his mother tongue instead of English and that Arthur knew relatively close to no Italian, his cheeks burned scarlet. Much to his surprise, Arthur smiled warmly at Lovino and placed a soft, lingering kiss on the younger boy's temple.

"_Grazie mille_," he whispered into Lovino's ear when he pulled away.

"_Parli italiano_?" Lovino questioned, awestruck, as he stared into shimmering emeralds with a coat of pink dusting his cheeks.

"Not at all," Arthur replied sheepishly, "but Romance languages share quite a few common root words. I looked up a few basic phrases when I got to know you, actually, so I wouldn't feel so left out when you say something in Italian."

"Oh," Lovino recalled dismally, "you know French." Why couldn't the lion bastard have learned Italian instead? The school did require two years of a foreign language different from one's native tongue. Lovino had opted to take Spanish last year because Antonio was right there if he needed help and was diligently following through with his second year. Maybe he had decided to learn French because the perverted bastard would have helped him or something. It didn't quite explain why he was fluent in it though.

"I do," the blond admitted, dropping his head so that it rested on top of Lovino's. When he caught a glimpse of the glum expression Lovino bore, he took it upon himself to explain, "The frog used to live next door when we were younger. He moved to a different neighbourhood a few years back, but I always remember him speaking French. It irritated the shite out of me, so I picked up a dictionary and flipped through the pages just to see what he was always saying over the summer one year. I might have been twelve or thirteen. Anyway, by then, I knew a little bit of French, and my first girlfriend was so impressed that I - " he cracked a smile at his naivety and palmed his forehead at the memory " - silly little git I was, I actually learned basic French from the Internet and from books that I bought with my own money. Of course, that relationship didn't last all that long, but at least that skill came in handy when I had to learn two languages in high school."

"That's it?" Lovino mused.

"If you want, throw an Italian dictionary at me. I'll actually read through the entire thing," Arthur chirped.

"Stupid photographic memory," the brunet grumbled, pinching Arthur in his stomach, somewhat displeased to find that the blond didn't have much fat. The bastard was almost all muscle! At least he wasn't like the potato brain. Nevertheless, Lovino had successfully managed to injure his more-than-a-friend, and the Briton hissed and rubbed at the sore spot. "Could you actually memorize it all?"

"Who knows? I've never tried memorising an entire dictionary," the blond pondered aloud. Elizabeth clambered off Lovino's lap just when the slightest sign of rain pattered against the rooftop. The Scottish Fold climbed about, leaping onto the kitchen counter and settling at the open window, watching drops of rain cling to the window. Arthur smiled at the sight. "She's always been sensitive to the rain. I found her when it was raining, but unlike the other cats, she was just watching it. Then she followed me home. I wonder if there's some history with the rain that made her extra-sensitive," he mused aloud before lightly nudging Winston, who rested at his feet, with his toes, "but this lazy git isn't sensitive to anything. I picked him up from a 'free puppies' box; he was the last one there. Anyway, he never gets off his fat arse unless I make him."

"I wouldn't say that," Lovino protested. "You... You didn't see how worried he was at that pervert's Halloween party." His eyes warmed and itched with unshed tears. "He was fucking scared. Jia Long and I had to hold him back when they dragged you out of the damn pool. He's sensitive, alright, to his owner."

Arthur's hand slid along his jaw, cupping the side of his face. "I'm fine," he promised, kissing away the tears that managed to slip from Lovino's amber and emerald eyes. "It's nobody's fault. If anyone is to blame, then blame me. I never bothered to learn how to swim." He gave a sheepish smile at his last statement. "It would have came in handy."

Lovino pushed him lightly. "_Idiota_!" The Italian hopped off the sofa and onto his feet then and collected the plates from the coffee table expertly, placing them them into the sink gently. He picked Elizabeth from her perch in front of the window and placed her on the ground, turning the faucet and running the water so that she understood that he would be cleaning now. The cat scampered elsewhere, searching for another window, and when the Italian heard a door swing open somewhere else in the apartment, he knew that the Scottish Fold had found sanctuary elsewhere.

Picking his pots and pans off the stove, the brunet took care to rinse it clean of the tomato sauce he had prepared earlier. Lovino had taken the responsibility of buying an actual dinner set upon himself and brought over some spare kitchenware for Arthur's apartment for the times when they dined together. Lovino had also made it clear that he did not want to see them getting scratched up or broken seeing that he had paid for the items using his paycheck. Arthur was happy to receive the gift, of course, because it meant that he no longer had to order take-out. Additionally, the apartment began to smell - just gradually, so gradually it was barely noticeable - like a home.

After breaking up with Antonio, Lovino would always wander to Arthur's apartment once he finished his shift and cook up dinner. Occasionally, they would study, but Lovino managed to become distracted a vast majority of the time and studying was soon abandoned to play and fool around. Afterwards, they would cuddle together, something Lovino found surprising from Arthur, but only after the blond sought permission from Lovino. Apparently, the Lion loved touching his lovers - was he Arthur's lover? Lovino wondered briefly as he ran the sponge through the suds - from hugs to kisses to simply lazing around. That was a bit of an understatement though; Arthur relished just being able to graze Lovino's exotic skin. Most of the time, they were in the living room on the sofa in front of the TV simply exchanging idle commentary and kisses. Lovino loved it. Arthur wasn't afraid to talk to him. He wasn't afraid to kiss him. On occasions, he wasn't even afraid to yell at him either. In the end, they would force themselves to calm down with a few kisses and then alternate between washing the dishes and rinsing them. The chores wouldn't finish themselves, after all.

"So," Lovino called out to the blond lazily scratching Winston between the ears, "how come you never learned how to swim?"

"Eh, never saw the need," Arthur remarked. He reluctantly left the sofa to take his position in the kitchen. After washing his hands clean, the blond began to rinse the dishes and set them on a rack to dry and put away later.

"You live on an island," Lovino just had to point this out, handing the blond another plate, "surrounded by water."

"Pirates lived on their ship, but a good lot of them didn't know how to swim either," Arthur retorted. Sarcastically, he added, "They were also surrounded by water, just so you know."

"That's so stupid," Lovino grumbled under his breath with a slight smile lingering on his lips. "You're not a pirate."

"Maybe I was in a past life or something," Arthur mentioned offhandedly, flicking drops of fresh water off his finger and onto Lovino's skin. He delighted in the way it dripped and rolled off that exotic skin, licking his lips absent-mindedly. Lovino hadn't seemed to notice though. Instead, he was focused on something else; he was getting wet from the dishwater.

"Chigi!" the Italian squealed, throwing his sponge at Arthur's chest. The yellow sponge fell onto the tile floor. "Don't do that!"

"Do what?" Arthur smirked deviously, picking up the sopping wet item from the floor, and flung the sponge back at Lovino with a tremendous amount of force. "That?" The Italian hadn't caught the wet and soapy sponge in time and, due to the momentum, splattered dishwater it all over his shirt.

Arthur cackled in wild amusement even as Lovino squeezed the sponge all over his head. The Briton retaliated by grasping hold of the dish rag, wetting it briefly and wringing it as quickly as he could over Lovino's head, but the Italian had already turned off the facet and dashed out of the kitchen. Hot on his tail, Arthur coiled and whipped the dish rag at him, hitting Lovino's fine, round arse and making the Italian yelp once or twice. Winston raised his head at the disturbance but, upon seeing the two humans in the flat making noise again, dropped his head soon enough, covering his eyes with his front paws. They chased each other around the apartment, circling the kitchen island innumerable times, flicking water and throwing sponges and dish rags at each other, stopping only when Lovino had slipped on a soapy puddle and lost his balance. The Italian flailed his arms wildly when he noticed that he had begun falling backwards as though it would help him regain his balance. However, instead of making impact with the floor, Arthur quickly broke his fall by sliding under the younger boy, too far away to have closed the distance by simply running, groaning at the sudden weight on top of him. Just when Lovino turned to apologize, he caught the Briton laughing softly.

"You've been improving your falls lately?"

"Shut up, bastard," Lovino huffed indignantly, crossing his arms and noticing, with great disdain, that his clothes were wet. He didn't feel like changing into his smelly work clothes right now. They reeked of sweat and extra cheesy pizza.

Arthur smirked, whispering into Lovino's ear, "Make me."

Taking advantage of their position, the brunet turned around so that he was facing his lover - lovers, for sure, because they sure as hell weren't friends - and straddled his waist. Lovino pulled Arthur by the collar of his shirt, locking their lips together, and prying all too willing lips open with his tongue. His arms wrapped around his neck, hands slinking into golden strands of sunshine, and pressed their bodies closer. Arthur kept his hands set on Lovino's waist, keeping his lover upright, and broke the kiss, nibbling on a spot at his neck right below his ear, marking him feverishly, fervently, fiercely, and - above all – stubbornly. Lovino squirmed, writhing with pleasure, as Arthur's warm, moist tongue lapped at the new bruise, the smooth metal of his piercing providing an sensational contrast to his touches.

"You're so wet, little ankle-biter," he teased, stroking Lovino's hot skin through his soaked white school shirt, nuzzling his face into the crook of his lover's neck. He pressed a gentle kiss on his love bite and delighted in the shudder Lovino attempted to suppress, trying to repress a smile of his own. The Italian could still feel the curve of his lover's lips against his flesh, however, and smiled himself. Ah, Arthur thought happily, so warm. "You've gotten better at kissing, too." Still, the Briton didn't dare bring himself to continue any further without Lovino's permission, and he cursed the arousal brewing and bubbling violently in his stomach, desire much too potent for him to control at the moment. Nevertheless, he persevered.

"S-Shut up," Lovino snapped in embarrassment, "b-bastard."

A loud vibrating noise from the coffee table snapped the two of them out of their isolated world, dragging them back into reality, and Lovino reluctantly pulled away from Arthur to answer his phone. Both of them rescinded the disturbance but said nothing on the topic; for all Arthur knew, this intervention may have saved Lovino's chastity. Entering his pass-code, the brunet brought up the message his brother had sent him and skimmed through the slur of English and Italian. Lovino clicked his tongue in disdain, increasing the worry Arthur was experiencing. "What's wrong?" the blond inquired, standing up.

"Ah, Feliciano says that _Nonno _wants me home immediately because of the weather," the brunet answered shortly. "He said that he was driving here to pick me up soon. It should take about fifteen or thirty minutes, depending on his mood." His grandfather had a habit of disregarding traffic signs, after all, when he was in a hurry. Considering how Feliciano worried over him now, there was no doubt that the behavior had diffused to Grandpa Rome.

"You want to take a quick shower first?" Arthur suggested, pointing to the bathroom. Having been here so many times though, it was pointless to tell Lovino where something was or wasn't. It was probably, the brunet thought with mild shame and remorse, because he doesn't get many visitors. "Wouldn't want you going home all soapy and wet," Arthur continued with a tender smile. "You can borrow some of my clothes. I'm sure I've something that'll fit you."

Lovino returned the smile. "That'd be nice, but the mess...?"

"I'll clean it up, no worries," Arthur promised. Pulling Lovino gently by the hand, the blond ushered him into his bedroom, and the brunet meekly entered, weary of what he was to witness. Despite all of their time together, Lovino had never entered Arthur's bedroom for fear - wild as he could be - of the temptations a bed offered.

Arthur's bedroom was no different from the emptiness of the other rooms though. What little was in Arthur's room, however, was a pleasant surprise. Although there was only a slight nuance of a difference, there was traces of life here and there. Aside from Elizabeth, who was perched at the window watching the rain fall, there was a bright red bass guitar in a corner of the room, resting in its metal stand with its Marshall amp and gig case set aside. The instrument had a few mild dents and scratches from having been used. There was a few picks thrown astray, a good number of them chipped or entirely broken, along with the remains of plastic credit or debit cards cut into squares or triangles, but the CD collection, on the other hand, was neatly organized. One would have thought the OCD bastard, Ludwig, would have arranged it, but Arthur was associated little with the German aside from the few greetings at parties of mutual friends. There was also a fairly large bookshelf filled every little piece of classical literature. The bed, Lovino forced himself to look, was a king's size with linen sheets and a thick, heavy navy blue blanket. Plain and virtually bland. Nothing special.

Digging through a plain wooden drawer - Lovino noticed that the closet was shut - Arthur pulled out a long-sleeved white shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants. "I hope you don't mind they're plain," Arthur mentioned as he handed them over to Lovino with a cotton towel. He gave a sheepish smile and added, "I know how fickle you are with clothes."

"They'll do," Lovino replied honestly. "I'm getting in a car with my grandpa - nowhere else." The brunet tried not to be too curious about Arthur's room, but the latter already noticed and gave a low chortle. He gestured to the bookcase and to the CD collection.

"I love words," Arthur explained. "I'm an auditory person. I'm not too strong visually - though I can appreciate art. I just feel rather lacking in that area. It's part of the reason why I wear punk most of the time when I go out. It's comfortable no matter what the time, and it doesn't matter what the bloody hell I wear. I won't get hell from the frog or anyone else about being 'out of season' either since I really don't want to deal with that shit."

Lovino nodded dumbly.

"Also, I love your voice," the blond mentioned off-handedly, making Lovino flush in embarrassment. "I like how fluid it is when you speak, how your words roll off each other like waves. It has a magical quality to it."

"S-Shut up!" Lovino squealed pushing him aside and marching into the bathroom, embarrassed, while Arthur smiled contently in the bedroom. He hummed once, glancing around the room, and was glad that she had decided against sharing the dresser with him when they had first moved into the flat together. That would have been difficult to explain.

Sighing, Arthur mused aloud, "Guess it's time to clean up." He stripped off his wet jeans in exchange for another pair of joggers and traded his wet t-shirt for a cleaner one. Throwing his clothes into the laundry hamper, the blond marched out of the room. First things first, he had to take care of the puddles around the house. It wouldn't do if Lovino was to slip again.

* * *

When Lovino exited the bathroom, dirty school uniform stuffed into the bag containing his work uniform, the house was cleaner than he had arrived. "_Che cosa_?" the Italian muttered in awe as he peered into his reflection on the shining hardwood floor. Stepping into the living room, Arthur was knocked out on the sofa with Elizabeth nestled on his stomach and Winston under his arm. A smile stretched across Lovino's lips, and he couldn't help but dig for his phone and snap a picture. He was definitely saving this as his background, finally able to replace that bland wallpaper that came as a default.

Softly and silently, the brunet approached the resting boy on the sofa. Bending over, Lovino whispered into his ear, "_Svegliati, mio cuordileone_," and took great delight in watching the blond stir slightly. His eyebrows scrunched together as he stretched like a feral cat before throwing an arm around Lovino and pulling him into his embrace.

"Wot'd ya say?" Arthur mumbled sleepily, stroking Lovino's hair like it was Elizabeth. Lovino pushed himself up but was promptly pulled down by the blond. Arthur's eyes fluttered awake like the soft flapping of fairy wings, but they were still half-lidded and staring at Lovino with a warm desire. At this, Lovino's cheeks flushed, and he tried averting his gaze. However, it seemed that Arthur had predicted this and was tentatively stroking Lovino's cheeks as though he could smear the red just as contently. He paid no heed to the droplets of water slipping from the tip of Lovino's rich brown locks and onto his own pale skin. "Sounded loike '_coeur de lion_,'" he mused.

"Y-Y-You were a-awake, bastard?"

"Not really," Arthur responded casually, taking in the sight of Lovino dressed in clothes a little too big for him. Arthur's white shirt fell off his shoulders slightly, being a size too big, thereby exposing the dark love bite on his nape, and the pair of joggers were somewhat saggy and loose around his waist since the younger boy was slender than him despite having the drawstrings fastened. Delicious. Returning to Lovino's question, Arthur added, "Just resting my eyes. I can't fall asleep in ten minutes loike - " the blond immediately corrected himself " - _like_ some people." He gave Lovino an accusatory expression before grinning sheepishly.

Lovino sat upright then and tried not to straddle Arthur's waist. Instead, the blond was happy to switch his position so that his head was on top of Lovino's lap, resting yet again. Lovino clicked his tongue once more though the action had no deeper meaning pertaining to this scenario. He ran his fingers through the golden mane, somewhat matted and bedraggled from the dishwater, and asked, "What's with your accent?"

"Eh?"

"I mean, one minute it sounds prim and proper, all stiff and shit, and the next you sound like a hypocrite for criticizing the obnoxious hamburger bastard's speech because your tongue is all loose and crap," Lovino pointed out. "Then sometimes - " though mostly around me, the Italian failed to mention " - you sound... I don't know. It sounds... _pleasant_. Normal."

Arthur laughed. "I'm weird," he agreed. "One was the voice I trained myself to have so that nobody would ever make fun of me like they did when I was a brat, which is the 'loose tongue.' I grew up with that one, so I can't really get rid of it. I use it around people who've been around me for _ages_ - " family, but like hell they were going to bring that up right now " - or when I've just woken up and that third one... It's this one, yeah?" The blond smiled. "Not too prim and proper and not too loose? I talk like this around people I like. The list is pretty small. Only... Three-and-a-half people? No more than four."

Lovino snorted. "How can you have half of a person, _stupido_?"

"I don't know what to consider the frog," Arthur replied sardonically, making Lovino laugh. A smile graced his lips, and the two of them allowed the rain to wash over them with its tranquillity, basking in one another's company. The blond mentioned off-handedly, "I wish you could have stayed over instead."

Lovino clicked his tongue in mild disdain and irritation. "My family is too uptight for that to happen," the brunet remarked. "They were fine with me sleeping over at the dumb tomato bastard's - " he stopped. Why had he mentioned Antonio? Man, he was a moron!

Arthur sensed his distress and chuckled. "I suppose it makes sense," the blond mused, "since Carriedo would never hurt you. He's kind of stupidly honest in that sense - but a good bloke. You just see it in him, that kind of nature."

"Never thought I'd hear you compliment that tomato bastard," Lovino grumbled somewhat amusedly.

"That's probably his only good point though," Arthur admitted blatantly. With a bitter smile, the blond added, "He comes from a good family, you know? Lots of cousins, lots of brothers and sisters, lots of aunts and uncles. Probably a lot of kisses and hugs as well. I'm kind of jealous about that, but don't tell the git that. He'll be over the moon for _days_ - weeks or months, maybe. It's good that your family worries about you though, Lovino."

Grasping Arthur's hand, Lovino asked gingerly, "You want to talk about it, bastard?"

"Won't it spoil the mood?"

"You've already killed it, so go ahead and talk," Lovino retorted playfully with an encouraging smile, "you know, if you want."

Arthur chuckled, tracing the outline of Lovino's face with the back of his fingers. "Let's see... Where should I start?" he mused aloud. "Ah, I was born in East London to a loving mother. I was a bastard child."

Fuck.

"You should have said something - ah, no, but at the theme park you said - "

"I never said if my parents were married or not," Arthur recalled, grasping his lover's hand tightly, with a calming smile. "You did nothing wrong. You can still call me a bastard if you want. I know you're comfortable with it. I'm just telling you now because it's just the two of us, Lovino. I would trust you with my life." When Lovino blushed in embarrassment and shame, Arthur pressed a kiss to his tanned fingers, rubbing them assuringly. "Anyway, that was probably why my brothers didn't like me too much. My mother divorced their father, and even though my father was a busy man who never had time for love, my mother still loved him enough to have me even out of wedlock. I was a reminder of that. My father probably didn't - doesn't - know a thing about me or my existence. She kept me a secret from him so that he could keep his busy lifestyle. Anyway, we moved around a lot as a family, mostly in the United Kingdom, but one day my mother met another man who promised to take care of her and of my brothers and me. They got married and moved to Hetalia, persuaded by that rubbish of a new start and whatnot. After a few years, they had Peter - annoying brat."

"That's... not the whole story," Lovino concluded by the shadowy darkness haunting Arthur's eyes.

"No, it never is," the blond responded dismally. "My mother was poor of health and died after giving childbirth. Her husband died of grief, they say, after three or four years of playing the diligent father. Passed away in his sleep. Alistair, my oldest brother by three years, became our guardian. He was still in high school but soon quit to support us. He started working, and so did Owain and Seamus - my other brothers - with part-time employment, gradually full-time once they've graduated. They live in a small house now in the quaintest neighbourhood you would've ever seen.

"Some time when I was in my first year of high school, Alistair started seeing someone. Seeing turned into dating. Dating turned into an actual relationship. He couldn't deliver the bills one day though and was in a foul mood. From there, everything went to Hell. He got pissed, I got pissed off at him, and then he got pissed off at me. We argued, I got kicked out, and you probably know the rest. The frog found me, took me in for a few days, and then my benefactor turned up."

Lovino knew he was omitting details. Not everything added up. Still, the Italian didn't touch on the subject. If Arthur didn't want to talk about it, then fine. They wouldn't talk about it - not until he wanted to talk about it - even though Lovino didn't know when he would talk about it.

"You're lucky, Lovino," Arthur mused aloud. "I can't even see Peter any more. I don't get a chance to be a big brother. You're really lucky. You and Gilbert and the frog and Carriedo and Mathias and Wang and Lukas and Vladimir and Lars and - " he choked, bringing a hand to cover the tears that automatically spilled from his eyes. " - shit. Sorry about this, Lovino. I usually don't - "

Before Lovino even knew what he was doing, he reached for Arthur's hand, removed it from his eyes, and drowned in the liquid emerald of the Aegean. Swallowing his nervousness and mustering all of his courage, the Italian asked of the blond to join his family for dinner. Even though he knew it wouldn't be the same family Arthur missed dearly, Lovino would welcome him into his no matter what it would take. If he had to go against his _Nonno _and his _fratellino_, then fine, but he would get Arthur a family. He didn't want to see his beloved Lionheart crying anymore. He didn't want to see his beloved Lionheart stay cold and alone anymore. He didn't want to see his beloved Lionheart lonely anymore because it killed him as well.

"You'll be back Monday, right?" Lovino continued softly. "Come dine with us. What time will you be back?"

Arthur, recovering from his prior shock, answered dumbly, "A-At six, maybe, if all goes well."

"That's fine," the brunet assured, squeezing Arthur's hand in attempt to pacify the blond, with a gentle smile, "since we usually eat at eight anyway."

If anything, the distress in Arthur's eyes intensified. "You come here everyday after work though," the blond muttered before averting his gaze in shame. "You cook around 6:30 and help wash up... What do you do when you get home?"

"I prepare some soup and eat the leftovers my brother made," Lovino answered honestly and unabashedly. "We usually don't make a big dinner, bastard - " Lovino bit his tongue for a moment. It felt kind of wrong to call him that now that he had learned the archaic meaning. Even though both of them knew that Lovino meant no offense and even though Arthur had told him that it meant little to him, the word tasted sour on his tongue now. Hoping that Arthur hadn't sensed his reluctance, he hastily finished his sentence. " - so don't worry about it, alright? It's fine. You worry too much." Chuckling a bit, Lovino leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss on Arthur's forehead before asking the blond, "You were never this sensitive about things before. What the hell happened?"

Arthur gave him a wry smile. "I always botch things up in a relationship," he warned, trying to seem casual but failing, "and I just don't want to fuck up what we have either." Arthur stretched out a hand, weaving his fingers through Lovino's rich brown locks and caressing the soft skin of his cheeks with his thumb. "I want to stay with you for as long as I can."

He... He didn't say forever, Lovino thought despondently. Of course, the Italian reminded himself with a chastising tone, he can't stay forever. He has to go to England and study and work hard and... He has his own life. I just, Lovino pleaded to Arthur silently, want to be with you forever. I want to be your support.

A sharp buzz resounded through the apartment, reverberating off the plain walls and through the empty rooms, and Arthur shot onto his feet like a rocket. Lovino frowned at the sudden loss of contact but said nothing, watching as his lover march to the front door. "It's Miss Jane," the blond explained off-handedly. "She usually rings me up if I have a guest or a delivery."

Lovino trailed after him. "Maybe it's _Nonno_," the brunet suggested. He felt kind of idiotic for simply standing at the front door while Arthur pressed a button to answer the call, but he wanted to hear for himself if his grandfather had already arrived to pick him up from the complex.

"Kirkland speaking," Arthur stated into the receiver.

"Good evening, Mr. Kirkland. I have Mr. Vargas here to retrieve his grandson," Miss Jane replied in a stiff manner unlike the one she normally used to address Arthur and Lovino, one of pleasantness and familiarity. She sounded uncomfortable, and considering how pretty she was, Lovino could guess why. The Italian grounded his teeth, preventing himself from snapping with agitation, and turned away his head with shame. "Should I send him up or - ?"

"Tell her I'll be down as soon as possible," Lovino told Arthur, but it seemed that Miss Jane had already heard the brunet and responded affirmatively. He pivoted on his heel to fetch his bag, and Arthur followed him into the living room to fetch his keys from their usual spot on the coffee table. While Lovino was stepping into his socks and shoes, Arthur unlocked the front door. When Lovino stepped forward to kiss Arthur on the cheek goodbye, the blond turned his head and caught their lips together. Blushing with embarrassment, Lovino spluttered, "Chi-Chigi! Wh-What was t-that for?!"

"Hm? No reason," Arthur responded with a cheeky smile. "I just wanted a proper goodbye kiss!" Stepping into a pair of worn white runners, Arthur opened the door for Lovino to exit first. He gave his lover a warm smile and declared firmly, "I'll see you to the main entrance."

"Y-You don't have to, dammit," Lovino muttered under his breath, trying to slow his frenetic heart. He hoped Arthur's ears weren't highly sensitive to the slightest noise; Lovino could hear his heart pounding in his eardrums. Lovino stepped out of the apartment with Arthur close behind him. "I know my way around."

"I know," the blond responded as he closed the door and locked it shut. Pocketing his keys, Arthur took Lovino by the hand upon noticing that they were alone in the corridor, entwining their fingers, and smiled when the younger boy reciprocated the action. "Do I need an excuse to spend more time with you?"

They stepped into the main elevator, and Lovino pressed for the ground floor. Leaning against each other, the Italian stared into their reflection on the metal doors while Arthur was humming another one of his songs. The whole ride down, nobody had joined them, leaving them to their serenity, before the doors parted and so did Arthur's fingers. Lovino's hand felt empty, and soon so did his chest. Still, he couldn't quite reach for those cold fingers and warm them with his own heat. His grandfather had spotted them, and Arthur knew that neither Feliciano nor his grandfather had thought too highly of him. Just by glancing at him, Lovino saw it in those dark and dim emeralds - shame, remorse, guilt - even though Arthur never said a word to offend his grandfather.

"Roma!" _Nonno _crooned as he wrapped his arms around the boy. The grin on his lips, Lovino noted, was too fake. It wasn't his usual dopey, carefree smile. "Come! It's raining hard, and I don't know when it'll stop! It's best to leave right away!" The elder man cast a glance to Arthur, and his smile faltered slightly.

The blond only gave him a respectful nod and stretched out a hand in politeness, smiling courteously, and introduced himself, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Vargas. My name is Arthur Kirkland."

The elder man took his hand cautiously and shook it firmly. "I'm Lovino's grandfather - though you probably already knew that. Thank you for taking care of my grandson in this weather," Grandpa Rome responded curtly. "We must get going now."

"Yes, I understand," Arthur replied, still smiling distantly.

"I-I'll see you tomorrow," Lovino muttered shyly, knowing that his grandfather was still watching them. "C-_Ciao_, A-Ar-Arthur."

"Cheerio, Lovino," the blond returned, smile softening into sincerity. His emotions didn't linger for long, and Arthur returned to that safe, polite smile when he noticed that Mr Vargas was keeping an eye on them - more likely, on Arthur himself. He kept smiling even when Lovino cast him a worried glance, to which he responded with a wink that made the younger boy redden like his fresh tomatoes, until both grandfather and grandson disappeared from the building. Then the smile on his lips dropped immediately. Without turning to Miss Jane, the Briton pondered aloud, "Mr Vargas really does not like me, does he now?"

"No," she agreed, "he does not."

"Bollocks."

Meanwhile, Lovino shuffled into his grandfather's car, a white Lancia he had purchased a few years back, and buckled his seatbelt after throwing his bag onto the floor. Glancing in the side mirror, he noticed the bruise on his neck and, with great alarm, made to cover it with his hand. Heat crawled up his neck, staining his cheeks with embarrassment, as he prayed to God that his grandfather hadn't seen or noticed the love bite.

"Remove your hand, Lovino Romano Vargas," boomed his grandfather as he started the car and pulled it away from the front of the apartment complex. "I already saw it." Hesitantly, the boy obliged and allowed his hand to slip from his neck and plop onto his lap. "Just what were you doing at that boy's apartment? Alone? Those are obviously not your clothes, and it appears that you've showered as well. Why did you have to shower? Why do you have a mark on your neck? Did you have - ?"

"_Chigi_!" Lovino cried, covering his face with embarrassment. Glancing at his oldest grandson, he could catch a glimpse of stark red ears. "I didn't do anything! _We _didn't do anything! _Nothing happened, Nonno_! Don't you trust me, dammit?!"

"Watch your tongue," hissed his grandfather. "It's not _you _that I don't trust - but _him_."

"He didn't do anything wrong!" Lovino argued heatedly. "He's a good person!"

"Can you tell that to the people he's beaten?" returned his grandfather. "The people that he's injured? He's nothing more than another delinquent, Roma - "

"Feliciano put you up to this, didn't he?!" Lovino accused vehemently. "You _always _listen to Feliciano! When will you listen to _me_?! If I say that he's not a bad person, then he's not a bad person! He listens to me when I bitch about shit that's fucking trivial as hell even when that shit could have been worse, and he listens to me when I bitch about shit that hurts so bad I don't even know how to express it in words! He listens to me, and he tries to help me when I know he's been through more crap than I ever have! Even when I hurt him, even when I know that I've hurt him and when he knows that I know I've hurt him and when I know that he knows that I've hurt him, he's still there! He's always been there for me!"

"What about Antonio? He's - "

"What about him?!" Lovino snapped. "Why does it have to go back to Antonio? Why does it _always _go back to Antonio? Sure, he's a good guy, but I've had enough of being treated like I'm some _fucking glass doll_. I'm not a _person _to him! I'm something fragile to protect otherwise the mess won't be pretty when I break! He's never _talked _to me! He's more like my fucking _keeper_! Arthur's the first one who's ever been _real_ with me, and - " Lovino tried to stop his voice from cracking with tears " - it fucking hurts because at the same time he's like a _dream_... and I don't want to wake up." Breathing heavily now, panting as though he had been running a marathon, Lovino realized what he had just said and flushed with embarrassment. Irate tears dripped from the corners of his eyes uncontrollably from pure and utter frustration, and Lovino couldn't find the strength to wipe them away.

His grandfather was silent. The rest of the ride was silent. When they finally arrived at their home, he said only one thing, "Dreams aren't real. They aren't there when you wake up, Roma. They're not there to stay. It's better if you save yourself the pain now and face reality. Is he going to be there when you're awake?"


	21. Chapter 21 - Facing Reality

**Chapter Twenty-One: Facing Reality**

"When does your plane leave?" Lovino inquired curiously, emptying his can of coffee before crushing it in his hands. The brunet leaned against his lover's back and crinkled his nose in slight agitation at the temperature. Although the weather hadn't reached its minimum low, it was still chilly, especially with winter fast approaching, and he had considered dragging Arthur to the cafeteria with him for lunch. However, sentiment won over comfort. In the end, the rooftop was still their one and only sanctuary away from prying eyes.

"Around seven," Arthur answered shortly. "I have to be there by five or six. I don't think there will be many people at the airport though - maybe a few business people or just some travellers or explorers - considering that it's not winter holiday yet. Most likely, I'll probably be there at six."

"Damn, I get off work at six," Lovino grumbled indignantly. He smiled when he felt Arthur's fingers thread with his. "I'll try to be there."

"Don't worry about it," the blond returned amiably. "Nobody else is coming to see me off anyway. There's the football game today, isn't there? Go to that instead. You've always gone to a football game, right, since you were seeing Carriedo? I had to go all the time to make sure that nobody acts out of hand; I think I've seen you around once or twice. Anyway, it'll certainly be more fun than seeing me to the security checkpoint, yeah?"

Lovino pursed his lips together, preventing himself from saying something he might regret, before squeezing Arthur's fingers desperately. "Y-You sure, b - " he bit his tongue, recalling that Arthur really was a bastard by definition, and hastily substituted " - dammit?"

"It's only an interview," Arthur responded quietly. "There's no guarantee that I'll be accepted on the spot, and it's not like I'll be gone forever. I'm still coming back as soon as everything's over."

For now, Lovino remarked dryly, but he didn't dare to say it out loud. It was a topic he didn't want to confront, not yet at least. If he did, then it meant that he would be proving his grandfather's words from last night correct, and Lovino was too proud and stubborn to admit that the elder man had a point. "You have a good chance," the brunet said instead, "since you're smart."

"That's not all they're looking for, Lovino," Arthur mentioned.

"Well, whatever they're looking for," Lovino countered, "you have it. All of it. You're... You're perfect, dammit." On the other side, Arthur smiled, but the Italian couldn't still it. Instead, he munched idly on a piece of bread. "Don't put yourself down. Have more confidence in yourself, a-and I-I'll try, too, dammit. I'll try... being more confident." Lovino smirked and huffed somewhat haughtily, superficial the tone may be, remarking, "Can't let my little brother show me up."

He felt Arthur rest all of his weight against his back and drop the back of his head against his own, entangling their contrasting locks. "There you go, little ankle-biter," the blond mused aloud. "Good for you." Arthur tightened his hold on Lovino's hand ever so slightly, but the Italian was quick to return the action.

* * *

"Ve! _Fratello_!" Feliciano chirped as he bounced his way towards Lovino as soon as he spotted his older brother walking to the bleachers. "You're here!"

Behind Feliciano was the potato eater, and Lovino couldn't help but click his tongue contemptuously at the taller blond. He turned his gaze away from the German boy and instead replied to his brother, "Chigi! Why wouldn't I be here?" Lovino was positive that he hadn't told his brother about Arthur's flight. If he had told Feliciano, then the older Vargas was certain that the younger would try to prevent him with all of his might from seeing the blond off anyway, but since Arthur had told him to watch Antonio's game instead, Lovino decided to humor him. After all, if Arthur didn't want to make a big deal out of it, then Lovino wouldn't make a big deal out of it.

"Vee, because you broke up with Antonio..." Feliciano trailed off from his statement. Lovino didn't know if he didn't want to finish it or if he didn't know how to finish it. Still, it mattered little. He knew fairly well that his younger brother was disappointed with how their relationship gone and especially disappointed to learn that he spent most of his time with Arthur during and after his relationship with Antonio.

Nevertheless, although, frankly speaking, Lovino was pretty pissed at his brother, he couldn't hate him. However, the older Vargas twin could ridicule his brother's reasoning. Giving Feliciano an incredulous look, Lovino remarked, "Just because we're over doesn't mean that I can't come to _public _football games." As though to prove his point, Lovino gestured about him to the growing audience. Lovino also added, "It also doesn't mean that we aren't friends anymore, _idiota_. Just because it didn't work out _that _way doesn't mean that we can't be friends."

"Ve..." Feliciano sighed as though disappointed with Lovino's answer. In all actuality, he probably was disappointed with Lovino's answer. This didn't invite any further comment from the older Vargas twin. Instead, Lovino scowled when he saw that Ludwig had already approached them.

"Good evening," he greeted Lovino stiffly.

Lovino clicked his tongue in pure and utter disdain.

"_Fratello_, come sit with us!" Feliciano chirruped, hooking his arms with Lovino's and Ludwig's. This action earned the younger Vargas twin a protesting cry from his older brother and a surprised, "Feliciano!" from Ludwig. "Because we're in the news club, we get the best seats! That way, Kiku can get all of the good shots!"

"I thought you guys did a fucking random as hell column, dammit!" Lovino snapped. "Since when did you do sports articles?!"

"The usual sports editor had contracted a cold and was unable to cover the event today," Ludwig explained modestly. Still, his response was not greatly appreciated by Lovino, who scoffed and muttered something along the lines that they were not experienced in writing sports articles and that their story would probably be garbage. Ludwig didn't respond. Even though Feliciano tried to hide it sometimes, the German knew, as his best friend, that the younger Vargas was doodling in his notepad more than half of the time when they were collecting information. If it wasn't for the fact that Ludwig did most of the work on their "random as hell" columns, then it would be, as Lovino had commented, complete garbage.

Allowing Feliciano to lead them to their spot in the bleachers, they found that Kiku was already setting up his tripod and camera. Once the Japanese boy had finished, he began snapping experimental shots. Kiku only stopped when Feliciano waved wildly at him, and in response, he gave a brief nod of acknowledgement. Pulling along his brother and his best friend, he hurried to the side of his older friend and asked how the pictures were coming along.

"The game hasn't even started yet, Feliciano-kun," Kiku pointed out politely. "I haven't taken pictures of anything except an empty field."

"Hey! The awesome me has arrived!" crowed an overly obnoxious voice. Heads turned to land their eyes on Gilbert and Francis. Trailing behind them was Alfred's brother. Alfred, in particular, was patrolling the bleachers to make sure that nothing was going awry since spectators could get especially rowdy. Performing the same exact task, but less eagerly, was Jia Long on the opposite side. From their place in the stands, they could see the Chinese boy sitting on the bleachers while sharing a bag of popcorn with his sister.

Soon, more and more students and spectators began filling the seats. Joining their party in particular were all of Antonio's friends and acquaintances, namely the entire third year class. They all roared with exuberance when their school football team entered the arena. Kiku immediately began snapping pictures. After a show of good sportsmanship, the game commenced. Ludwig was diligently scribbling notes onto his notepad unlike Feliciano, who had joined the crowd in cheering for the home team.

They hollered with glory and pride when Antonio scored the first goal, a good number of spectators rocketing onto their feet, but Lovino couldn't help but remain seated. He pulled out his cell phone and checked the time. It was twelve minutes past six. Arthur was probably already at the airport around now. Forcibly pulling his eyes away from the time, Lovino stared into the arena. The crowd sat back down and watched as the team chased after the black and white ball rolling around the field, dribbled and passed from one player to another, intercepted numerous times, before being blocked by their Brazilian player. Lovino couldn't recall his name. The ball was passed to Antonio, who again scored yet another goal. The tomato bastard was on another league when it came to football. Too bad he wasn't good at much anything else and was almost kicked off the team innumerable times when his test scores failed to improve.

Lovino glanced at his phone. Fifteen minutes had passed.

"I wonder why Artie isn't here," Gilbert mentioned aloud. Nobody saw how Feliciano frowned at the mention of the Lion. "He's always here to monitor the games. Plus, he fucking _loves_ football! It's so not awesome if he decided to take a sick day. The guy is _never _sick."

Lovino froze. "You don't know?" the brunet asked.

"Know what?" the albino inquired casually before he whooped wildly when one of their players scored another goal.

"You don't know why he's not here?"

"How can I?" Gilbert responded dryly. "He never answers his phone when I call or text him. So not awesome."

Francis snickered. "I think there is a reason why, _mon ami_," the young Frenchman mused.

"What about you, perverted bastard?" Lovino directed his query to Francis. "Do you know?"

"_Malheureusement, non, je ne sais pas_," Francis responded with a halfhearted sigh and a shake of his head. "There are days when he disappears off the surface of the earth, and nobody knows why. He deals with whatever is bothering him alone; he doesn't let anyone help. It is foolish, I know, but he says that he doesn't want anyone to fuss over him."

"Nobody knows?"

Nobody replied.

That fucking bastard.

Lovino leapt onto his feet and ran for the exit, ignoring how his brother had cried out his name in surprise and confusion, as he dashed off campus and onto Main Street, trying to flag a taxi. If Arthur's plane left at seven, then Lovino had time before the lion bastard boarded his flight, right? He sure fucking hoped so, grounding his teeth and tightening his jaw, as he managed to call a plain black and white Toyota. Stepping into the cab, without giving the driver a chance to inquire of his destination, Lovino cried, "To Hetalia International Airport as quickly as possible - _please_!"

Although he didn't quite understand the urgency, the driver gave a curt nod and stepped on the gas pedal as soon as his client buckled his seatbelt in the backseat. Trying his best to heed the speed limits despite his customer's insistence on going _just five or ten more __kilometers__ faster please_, the driver asked as nonchalantly as possible, "So what's the big rush, kid?"

"I'm going to beat up an idiot for being so dumb," Lovino spat bitterly. He crinkled his nose slightly and rubbed it in mild discomfort, staring out the window from the backseat.

The cabbie didn't question anything further. Instead, he just hummed in thought before commenting, "You got a girl flying somewhere?"

Lovino's cheeks flushed at the inquiry. However, rather than being shy and embarrassed about the fact that, _yes_, he did have a lover flying overseas, he was somewhat flustered at the implication that his lover was female. A part of him was somewhat offended that the driver had even asked that prying question. What if he didn't want to make conversation? Instead of retorting with that, however, Lovino spluttered nonsensical syllables that made his driver guffaw. For a moment, Lovino was worried that they would crash because he wasn't sure the driver could see with tears in his eyes.

Nevertheless, the old man rephrased his earlier query with great amusement evident in his voice, "So you have a lover flying overseas then? It's alright; I don't judge. I've seen this episode for... about three, four times? Anyway, you aren't the first one; I've seen it happen with both straight and gay couples. It makes me wonder if people are trying to recreate TV soaps in real life, no offense, kid."

Lovino clicked his tongue in irritation before dread and panic flooded his body. "W-Why are we stopping?"

"Traffic," the driver responded. "It doesn't look like we're going to get anywhere far right now. There must be an accident up ahead. The way things are going, I would say it'll take about twenty minutes to get through."

"I don't _have _twenty minutes!" Lovino exclaimed in sheer exasperation. "His flight starts boarding at _seven_!" The Italian pulled out his cell phone and checked the time. Fifteen minutes had passed. It was six forty-five. "How far until we get there?" he asked of the driver.

"About two kilometers straight ahead," the driver responded shortly. "You thinking about running?"

Cursing himself, he pulled out a wad of cash and tried handing it civilly to the driver without throwing it at his face. "Keep the change!" Lovino added hastily as he scrambled out of the cab, fiddling with the door. He slammed it shut and began sprinting down the sidewalk, hoping that his time in track in primary school hadn't diminished over time, quickening his pace until everything became a blur to him.

Arthur is such a fucking bastard, a fucking dumbass, a fucking moron. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Lovino cried vehemently. I'm even more of a fucking idiot for listening to him!

His legs caved, and his muscles failed him. In a final endeavor, Lovino burst through the doors of the airport, stumbling inside. Collapsing to his knees, unable to stand upright anymore, and panting heavily, trying to catch his breath, Lovino pulled out his cellphone to check the time.

Seven o'clock.

Lovino punched the floor, fighting angry tears, as he cursed his luck. Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! He hadn't even realized that he had shouted aloud or that tears were burning the back of his eyes, trying to slip out of the corners and scald his flesh as they rolled down his cheeks. He didn't even care if people were staring at him because - fuck! - let them stare!

He never wants anyone to worry about him, Lovino thought bitterly, wiping at the tears angrily with the back of his hands, but it's not fair! It's not right! Dammit! Dammit! God-fucking-dammit!

"You're making a scene, git."

Lovino whirled around and found Arthur standing behind him, leisurely sipping an oddly colored drink from a clear plastic cup with a green straw. The Briton raised a thick eyebrow before helping Lovino onto his feet. Contrary to his appearance, however, his green eyes were soft like subdued jade yet to be polished and shined, cloudy and muddled. Pulling Lovino onto his feet and into a hug, he whispered softly into Lovino's ear, "What are you doing here? I thought I told you to go to the game. Why were you on the floor?"

In normal circumstances, Lovino would have pushed Arthur away for being too affectionate in public, but he didn't even care anymore. The brunet clung onto the front of Arthur's t-shirt and buried his face into his lover's chest. "Dammit, I went to the game, but I wasn't having any fun at all, bastard! I left after like ten minutes because nobody knew that you were leaving! You didn't tell anyone at all, dammit, you fucking bastard! How could you do that to me?!"

Arthur laughed in sincere, genuine amusement, wrapping his arms tighter around Lovino's middle and pressing a kiss to his temple. "That's not entirely true," Arthur retorted, "I told you, didn't I?" When Lovino punched him in the chest weakly, he chortled under his breath and brought himself to explain properly, "I'm sorry, but I didn't want anyone coming. Today is the last game, and I wanted everyone to support Carriedo, brainless wanker he might be."

"Shit, you're too nice for your own good, bastard."

Arthur smiled. "You're calling me 'bastard' again," he mused aloud. "That's good. I was worried."

"About what?!" Lovino snapped. "Just because I stopped - "

"It meant that you were too bloody self-conscious around me, you idiot," Arthur remarked. "I didn't want that. I just wanted you to be you, you as yourself, _you_, Lovino Romano Vargas."

Lovino huffed indignantly. "So why are you still here, bastard? What about your fucking flight? I thought boarding started at seven," the brunet countered. "Did you lie about that, too?"

"It got delayed. They say that it'll be here in about thirty minutes to maybe an entire hour or two," Arthur mumbled impatiently. "At least I got to see you though, before I left, little ankle-biter."

Lovino clicked his tongue. "Don't lie to me, bastard. I don't like it. I thought... I thought we were honest with each other."

"I never _lied _to you," Arthur pointed out. "I told you _everything_. My flight was supposed to board at seven, and I was leaving around five or six. I was stuck here for two hours already." He spat out the last sentence as though it was poison. In a softer voice, he added shyly, "I would never lie to you. You've never lied to me. I-I like that kind of honest relationship - however brutally honest it or _we _may be."

Lovino clicked his tongue. "You... You don't think anybody would miss you?" the brunet inquired hesitantly.

The Lion, in response, only laughed at this proposal. "It's the weekend," Arthur remarked off-handedly. "I usually use that time to avoid the gits unless they have plans that sound half-way decent. If I were to miss anyone during three days' time, I would only miss you." The blond smiled. "We'll have to see about that to confirm that it's true, wouldn't we?"

The Italian snorted and pulled away from his lover, shuffling on his feet nervously and dropping his gaze to the tile floor. "C-Call me," he stuttered as embarrassment found cause, once more, to smear his tanned cheeks, "when you get to England o-or when you get to your hotel."

"I'll call you every day if you want, Lovino," Arthur offered as his smile grew more and more tender. His subdued eyes had brightened to a clear jade polish by now, staring at Lovino amorously. Noticing that the red had brightened Lovino's cheeks deliciously, the blond felt the need to tease him and thus asked, "Would you answer my calls?"

"O-Of course I would!" Lovino responded snappishly, strung from all of his nerves. Jumping at the sound of his own voice, he lowered it and repeated, "Yeah, I would."

"That's good," Arthur mused before grasping Lovino's hand with his free own and curling Lovino's fingers around his plastic cup. "It's passion fruit tea; I got it from the Starbucks around the corner just a few moments ago," he stated. "It's not water or a sports drink, but it'll keep you hydrated after all that running." Smiling, he pressed a discreet kiss to Lovino's fingers and ruffled the rich brown hair. "Ta, little ankle-biter." He really was thankful that Lovino came to see him off even if it meant getting shit from the younger boy.

"W-Wha - ?"

"I have to go," the blond explained, glancing at the time on his phone. "It's nearly half seven by now. The security check always takes some time, but I should be at my gate on time." He gave Lovino one last smile and added, "Cheerio, little ankle-biter."

"C-_Ciao_," Lovino replied, blushing, "_bastardo leone_." The brunet watched miserably as Arthur picked up his carry-on, a moderately sized sports bag that was probably all he needed to bring, and shuffled to the escalators. He tried to mask the fact that, yes, he was depressed that the blond would be leaving but also the fact that he was disappointed the blond chose to leave.

Lovino would have thought that _he _was a good reason to stay here on this damn island, but maybe he had to do as his grandfather suggested and face reality. Everyone was walking into the future, and that included Arthur.

What present? There's no gift.

Lovino glanced at the iced tea in his hand, a red violet colored liquid, and sipped it tentatively, blushing as he realized he was sharing Arthur's drink. It was an indirect kiss, wasn't it? How fucking cheesy, the Italian admonished himself, are you a stupid little schoolgirl? But... The tea wasn't that bad, like Arthur had said. It was sweeter than he had anticipated, and there was a fruity tang that accompanied the taste. Lovino would have rather had such a drink in summer, but, then again, he didn't really expect much from Arthur when it came to food and drinks.

Maybe... His grandfather was wrong. Maybe there was another side of reality that Lovino hadn't understood. Maybe Arthur would tell him what he was thinking, one day, and maybe that one day would be soon. Maybe. For now, all he could do was wait for Arthur to call him.

At one o'clock in the morning, when the sun wasn't even shining, Lovino's phone went off. Feliciano whined and nearly kicked his brother off the bed trying to make himself comfortable as his unconscious state sensed the disturbance. At the sudden alarm snapping Lovino from his dreams of a family dinner gone to Hell after he had burned the main course as a consequence of his grandfather and brother ganging up on Arthur, he answered the call mustering as much venom as he could, spitting out a violent in a mild volume level so not to wake up his brother, "_Chi cazzo parla_?"

Honestly, he was happy not experiencing that nightmare, but he still wanted his sleep, dammit!

"_Well_," Lovino's heart skipped a beat as he heard the familiar voice muse on the other end of the call, "_good morning to you, too, little ankle-biter_."

Lovino had forgotten that the flight from Hetalia to the United Kingdom was about four to five hours long. Sighing, the brunet collapsed back into his bed. What the hell? It was a Saturday tomorrow (today?), and he didn't have to work until noon anyway. Pursing his lips, the Italian responded in a much more mild-mannered fashion, "How was your flight?"

"_Relatively quiet_," Arthur replied softly, almost in a whisper, "_since everyone on the flight was snoozing. That includes me as well, I suppose, since I can't even recall most of it. Are - sorry, I meant, _were _- were you sleeping_?"

"It's a little too late to worry about that, bastard," Lovino replied in a quiet snarl. It was all but inaudible, however, but rather than feeling affronted, Arthur laughed at the sound.

"_Sorry about that, Lovino,_" the blond apologized gingerly. "_I ought to let you back to sleep now._"

"Like hell I can go back to sleep now!" Lovino barked indignantly. He tried to control his voice to refrain from disturbing his twin brother sleeping beside him. God, Feliciano was such a kid sometimes. "Maybe we can just talk. I start working in the noon anyway, remember? I can afford to sleep in late," the brunet mentioned almost meekly. He could feel his face burning with embarrassment for having said such cheesy words.

"_I don't mind_," Arthur replied amiably, "_but you sound bloody tired. If you want, I'll sing you a lullaby._" His words were playful, teasing, but his intent was serious. Laughing at the thought, he pondered aloud, fantasizing the idea, "_Serenade you to sleep, yeah? Now there's a romantic idea!_"

"Don't cause a scene, _idiota_!" Lovino chastised as his cheeks flared red, bashful and awkward. His outburst, of course, caused him to realize, "Where are you anyway?"

"_I'm in a hotel room,_" Arthur answered shortly, taking a moment's pause. The blond added wistfully, "_It's small and cosy here. I like it._" This was followed by a somewhat distracted comment, voice distant and faraway from reality, "_A lot better than that desolate, damned flat, I'll say, if only you - and Elizabeth and Winston - were here._"

Lovino's heart hammered in his chest, and he wondered if Arthur was even aware of what he was saying. The blond may have been blunt a vast majority of the time, but he was less often affectionate unless they were isolated. "I wish..." The Italian caught himself before he let the words "you were here" slip off his tongue. Instead, he finished with, "You'd hurry up and get back here so you can eat a proper meal. Knowing you, bastard, you'd probably eat a shit ton of fast food while you're away."

Arthur laughed at this and responded, "_I'd love that_." Lovino could just see that silly, goofy smile on his lips as he spoke. "_It's getting late, Lovino. You should go to bed. I'll call you later, all right?_"

"W-Wait!" Lovino cried in his panic. He felt Feliciano stir beside him and prayed that his younger twin wouldn't wake up any time soon. Chancing himself, he nervously and timidly asked Arthur, "W-What about the s-s-song? L-Lullaby?"

There was a soft, short deep chuckling on the other end. "_Yes, of course_," Arthur assured. There was a deep intake of air before the first note was sung, albeit somewhat nervously, "_Now it's time to say good night... Good night, sleep tight..._" Growing comfortable with himself, Arthur continued the lullaby more calmly and collectedly, singing in a velvety tenor, "_Close your eyes..._" Basking in the silky caresses of his voice, Lovino felt his eyes flutter, heavy with sleep, as the lullaby rolled into its last verse and faded into the soft click, ending the call. Lovino hadn't heard Arthur's last lyrics, a barely audible, silent whisper, "Sweet dreams for you, my love."

* * *

**A/N:** The lyrics that Arthur sings at the end are portions of what Lovino heard from "Good Night" by the Beatles. It was originally written by John Lennon as a lullaby to his five year old son, Julian.


	22. Chapter 22 - The Disappearance

**Chapter Twenty-Two: The Disappearance of Arthur Kirkland**

"_Buongiorno, bastardo leone,_" Lovino said into the phone as he shrugged on his coat, heading out the door of his home with his school bag hanging off his shoulder and gradually slipping down his arm. He didn't bother to fix it. Instead, the older Vargas twin trailed behind his brother and the potato head, pressing his phone against his ear in an attempt to block the chattering of the two friends away, sending Ludwig an evil glare to the back of his head, as he asked, "How are you? How was the second interview?"

"_G'mornin', Lovino_," Arthur mumbled from the other end, yawning, not bothering to pronounce all of the syllables in the words and slurring them together in the end. He could hear shifting on the other end and assumed that the blond had turned on his side, rolling in the hotel bed. Lovino smiled at the imagery before quickly replacing it with a scowl when he realized that Feliciano and the potato eater were not too far ahead of him. He heard a tired hum on the other end before Arthur inquired, "_All right_?"

"I asked you first, dammit," Lovino grumbled, sounding resentful, in what he considered a playful manner. The Italian hoped Arthur hadn't interpreted his words in the wrong way. Still, the blond was too tired to speak properly; there was a good chance he hadn't even picked up any sort of tone from the younger boy. "I'm good though, thanks for asking. Why are you so tired anyway? You're making me damn sleepy."

Arthur grumbled something among the lines of, "Concert, danced."

"A-Are you going to be okay for your interview?"

"_Two more 'ours, an' I'll be fine,_" the blond responded. Lovino could just imagine a lazy smile stretching those pale lips. "_Thanks fer worryin', luv_."

What was that just now?

"Chi-Chigi!" Lovino squealed, trying to contain his embarrassment. His outburst made the pair in front of him stop and turn around, only serve to darken the redness on his cheeks. Trying to recompose himself and attempting to ignore his brother and the potato eater, and failing at both tasks, the Italian snapped awkwardly, "_Che cazzo dici, bastardo_?!"

"_Mmmm,_" Arthur responded halfheartedly, but if Lovino listened closely, he could hear the amusement the blond was trying to conceal, "_can't wai' ter see yew tonight. I bleedin' love yaahr cookin'._"

Lovino flushed. "S-Shut up, bastard."

"_Will do, lil' ankle-biter,_" Arthur chirped merrily, though his voice still sounded somewhat groggy. The blond attempted to clear his voice some and asked Lovino, "_Are you heading to class_?"

The brunet clicked his tongue in fake condescension. "No shit," he replied curtly before adding, "I'm walking with my brother and his friend."

"_Ah, Gilbert's brother?_"

"Who else?" Lovino's voice was bitter.

"_You really don't like him._"

"He's corrupting my little brother."

Arthur laughed. "_I kind of feel for him - Ludwig._"

"W-What? Why?"

"_Oh, shite. The university's ringing - probably about the interview this morning,_" Arthur told the younger boy. "_I'll talk to you later, all right, Lovino? Bye, have a good day!_"

"W-Wait, bastard!" Lovino spoke a second too late. Arthur had already ended the call. Cursing the blond and himself, Lovino stuffed his phone into the pocket of his trousers before shuffling at a faster pace, scowl deepening upon passing the school gates. This was going to be a crap day already.

Meanwhile, in another part of the school building, Francis glanced at the still-empty seat beside him and sighed. When Gilbert burst through the doors, making a dramatic entrance as always, the albino was baffled to find Arthur's desk empty. "What? This is so not awesome! Where the hell did Artie disappear to?" the German griped as he neglected his own desk in favor of sitting at Arthur's.

He flung his feet onto the surface of the desk with a thundering bang that made Yao, Neeraja, and Gupta flinch at the front of the class. Kiku flipped another page of his manga, Vash leered at Gilbert with patent irritation, Heracles was deep in sleep, and Francis sighed. It was a good thing that Elizaveta wasn't here yet, or she would have whacked her childhood friend upside the head for being disruptive.

Continuing with his actions, Gilbert thought aloud, "It's not like him to skip - well, no he does skip occasionally - it's not like him to _miss _school. He always gets here right on time, and now it's been..." Gilbert checked the time on his phone. "...a good twenty minutes. This is serious. He's never more than ten minutes late."

Francis sighed again. "What if something happened to him?" the Frenchman fretted, running a hand through his golden locks, as his blue eyes darkened with worry. "After all, during the summer, he did see his brother, and September was _petit _Peter's birthday as well... He had contact twice this year already. He used to see Alistair only once a year if his brother answered the door on Peter's birthday." Francis recalled what had happened last year when Arthur tried delivering a birthday present. The Briton had stood on the doorstep for more than four hours until finally deciding that it was probably best to hide the present on the porch. Neither of them knew where Alistair was or what he was thinking.

Gilbert's eyes widened. He slung his legs off the desk and instead banged his fists on the surface table, again startling those sitting up front and studying, exclaiming, "You're not thinking that Alistair came back for him, right?! To finish the deed for good?! Is that why he isn't here?! Because he's in court - ?!"

"Oh, _tais-toi_, Gilbert!" Francis snapped vehemently, responding by kicking his friend's - well, Arthur's, really - chair and almost knocking him onto the floor. "You're too loud for your own good sometime, _mon Dieu_!" Glancing around, he saw that those in the front paid little interest to them, too indulged in their studies, while Heracles was still sleeping and Vash had raised an eyebrow in skepticism.

Kiku, on the other hand, was beginning to show concern. It seemed that the Japanese boy had caught onto the topic of their conversation, Arthur. The Briton was Kiku's first friend in high school, and Kiku was Arthur's first friend in high school. They had a friendship based on mutual respect. While Kiku knew little of Arthur's past, he understood that, through his friend's actions, there was much troubling him. Francis gave a little scoff at the thought; of course, it was to be expected from the master reader of atmospheres. Kiku was an expert at reading between and underneath the lines, searching for the hidden message.

"We will simply have to ask him when he returns," Francis concluded, deciding to be the more mature of the two of them.

"You mean if he returns, right? I mean, seriously, what if - ?"

"Gilbert. Shut. Up."

Gilbert growled defensively but obliged, slumping in his seat. The albino crossed his arms adamantly, and his temper seemed to heighten when Elizaveta marched into the room, giving him a scrutinizing glare after noticing that he wasn't in his usual seat. It would take him approximately until the lunch period to defuse his anger. Because the weather was much too cold to bother eating in the courtyard, Gilbert and Francis waited for Antonio to join them in their classroom (since, you know, majority rules). Naturally, since Gilbert wasn't the only hothead around school and because heat diffused rather easily, he was wound up once more when Alfred barged into the advanced classroom. The nearly hyperventilating American had dragged along Jia Long as a fellow member of the disciplinary committee and as a fellow friend - well, Alfred believed he would be qualified as a friend - to confront the older students.

"Aiya!" Yao exclaimed, surprise overtaking his features, as he spotted his younger brother. "Jia Long, what are you doing here?!"

The younger Wang pointedly ignored this question and stayed out of the classroom, making sure that he hadn't crossed the threshold, even though Yao stepped outside and began pestering him. Jia Long didn't make much of an effort to answer him, and his situation was overshadowed by Alfred's dramatic sequence.

"Hey, guys! Where's Artie?!" Alfred cried as he pulled up a chair. Instead of sitting in it, however, the blond slammed his left foot onto the seat and leaned forward, resting his left elbow on his kneecap and placing his right hand on his hip, as he - from what Gilbert, Francis, and Antonio assumed - attempted to appear like a serious officer. The straight face he had worn quickly dissipated into complete worry and paranoia when the first year student informed them, "He wasn't in the office today, and I haven't seen him patrolling the halls like he usually does either! Ohhh man," his voice trembled with this interjection, and the tall blond visibly shivered, "what if something bad happened to him?! That's so not cool, man! He's practically invincible! The only thing that could take him down is like some freak mutant monster alien dude from outer space!"

"Alfred! Calm down!" Francis exclaimed, palming his forehead and massaging his temples in circular motions with his thumb and middle finger. He was getting a headache from all of this ruckus! Arthur definitely knows how to cook up trouble for someone with absolutely no cooking skills! Forcing himself to inhale and exhale deeply, the Frenchman raised his gaze and asked the younger boy, "Do not jump to conclusions. I am sure that _Rosbif _is fine."

"Dude, I don't want _roast beef_ - you're saying it all funny, by the way - I wanna see Arthur! Man, I'm finally going to beat him today, and he's totally not going to flip me over like last time!" Alfred boasted confidently.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that kid," Gilbert remarked sardonically, snorting. If Alfred came at Arthur with that kind of force - heavy, tall, and fast - then, of course, the Lion would use his momentum against him. He wasn't the same fighter from their first year of high school - brute force and strength - Gilbert noted. Arthur had developed experience and strategy, something Alfred lacked remarkably. Besides, if Arthur managed to flip Ivan Braginski and Mathias Kohler a few times over the shoulder, then he would be able to deal with Alfred no sweat.

Both the German and the Frenchman glanced over at their Spanish friend. Antonio kept a blank smile on his face that they noticed immediately. It seemed that he had leapt to the same conclusion as Gilbert had. Francis cleverly addressed Jia Long instead, knowing that Alfred would be ultimately useless now, and asked the Chinese boy if he knew anything about Arthur's whereabouts.

The straight line on Jia Long's lips curved downwards, just slightly, into a frown. "If I did," the Chinese boy replied, "do you think I would, like, be here?" He jerked his head towards Alfred. "I would have, like, told him already and saved you guys the trouble... Maybe."

Gilbert snickered at the cheeky response while Francis did little to hide his grimace. Antonio bit his tongue for a moment and suggested, trying his best to uphold his cheerful mannerisms, "Maybe Lovi knows?"

"Dude! That's a great idea! C'mon!" Alfred exclaimed, grabbing Jia Long by one of the long sleeves of his sweater despite the latter's protest that Alfred would stretch the fabric, and raced down the corridors. The Bad Friends Trio glanced down at their lunch and debated if they should follow Alfred. After all, there was a reason why they had gotten their name; self-interest overrules all else, right? Sighing when they remembered that, if the worst case scenario was true, then they ought to search for Arthur with Alfred.

"Hey, Kiku!" Gilbert called to the Japanese boy, who was fiddling with something on his phone. When Kiku turned his head to acknowledge Gilbert's address, the albino asked of him, "Take some notes for us?"

"As long as you find Arthur-san," Kiku guaranteed with a polite nod, "then I am happy to oblige."

"Awesome!" Gilbert packed up his lunch, rolling the trash into a ball and throwing it into the trash can with no rebound, and slung his bag over his shoulder. Francis copied his actions with more grace, discarding his garbage properly, while Antonio had done so more leisurely. The trio followed after Alfred's steps and found that the American had found Lovino's classroom with minor difficulties. Jia Long seemed to have been dragging his feet, not wanting to have to run to Class 2-A. They watched as Alfred pulled the same stunt in this class, frightening Feliciano to cowering behind Ludwig and aggravating Lovino to no end.

"Listen, you obnoxious hamburger bastard!" Lovino roared. "'_Artie_,'" he spat out the name maliciously as though it tasted vulgar on his tongue (but, knowing Lovino, it probably really was a repulsive taste) and continued with the same disdain, "is not here!"

"Then that's all the more reason to look for him, isn't it?! Come _on_, Lovi! This is weird!"

"Chigi! Don't call me 'Lovi,' you fu - "

The Italian was once more interrupted, his statement cut into a fragment, as Alfred exclaimed boisterously, "Me and Jia Long can check in the sports center! You, Lutz, and Feli divide and conquer this building, and Gil, Toni, and Franny can search in the arts building!"

"You're not listening to me, da - "

"Alright! Let's split up!"

"_Chigi_!"

With that, Alfred towed Jia Long behind him, sprinting to the sports center of the school, before Lovino groaned and kicked his desk in frustration, mumbling something in Italian that made Feliciano crease his eyebrows. Gilbert sniggered and remarked, "What I don't understand is why the brat suggested searching for Arthur at school when he's not even awesomely here!"

"He's an idiot," Lovino grumbled.

"Are we going to look for Arthur then?" Ludwig inquired.

"Might as well," Antonio conceded. "That guy might be hiding somewhere we don't know about."

"If we don't know about it," Lovino remarked with poison dripping from his sharp tongue, "then how can we look for him?"

"We have to start somewhere," Francis concluded. Really, he hoped that their earliest assumptions hadn't been true. Maybe Antonio had a point, and maybe Arthur was simply hiding away somewhere at school. He did that from time to time, but only when he felt that there was no point in attending classes. But, and Francis made sure that the others knew, it was unlikely. If they wanted to search within the school, they could feel free to do so; Francis would search within town. Gilbert agreed with him, and together the two friends marched off-campus with a grim line on their lips. Lovino would have expected them to be somewhat cheerful that they were ditching school.

Dividing in the fashion that Alfred had suggested, Lovino told Ludwig and Feliciano to take the lower floors. Although he didn't want his brother alone with the potato eater, the older Vargas twin didn't want Feliciano to be around him when he called Arthur. The Italian then climbed up the stairs to the third floor from ground level. Without bothering to check any of the classrooms, he marched up the stairwell leading onto the rooftop. Suppressing a shudder from the chill that ran down his spine as the cold autumn air tickled his sensory nerves, Lovino pulled his phone from his back pocket, leaned against the wire fence, glanced at the courtyard below him, and dialed a familiar number.

Instead of being confronted with a voice, however, the first thing Lovino heard was a monotonous woman's voice automatically directing him voicemail. Huh, must be doing the interview, Lovino concluded somewhat bitterly. The moment Lovino heard the beep signaling the start of his message, the brunet clicked his tongue in disapproval and snapped, "The hamburger bastard is making a scene. Hurry up and fix your mess, dammit. I'm not cleaning it up for you, _bastard_." He bit his tongue. Should he say it? "I-I... E-Everyone misses you, dammit. Hurry up and come back. C-_Ciao_!" With that, Lovino hung up his call and tried to calm his fervently pounding heart, attempting to still it with his hand over his chest.

When he returned to the classroom, he was surprised to find Feliciano there before him. "You done?" Lovino asked his brother casually as he occupied his desk.

"I didn't feel like looking, ve," Feliciano confessed, looking away from his older brother. "I... I wouldn't know what to say to him anyway if I did find him. He scares me, _Fratello_, after everything that's happened. I don't think he's in danger, ve; how can anyone that strong and scary be in danger?"

Lovino snorted. "He's not in _danger_," the older Vargas twin remarked dryly. "That hamburger bastard is just overreacting. He doesn't take the time to listen to what other people have to say, dammit." Scoffing, Lovino added, "Besides, A-Arthur would never hurt you." Bastard doesn't kick puppies, the older Vargas mused wryly, but picks them off the street instead. Still, Feliciano didn't seem to have cheered up any. He was always like this when it came to the topic of Arthur, and it kind of pissed Lovino off. There was nothing wrong with the lion bastard as a person, but his brother didn't seem to understand that.

Soon, Ludwig returned to the classroom with, as Lovino had expected, little results. The brunet snorted and decided not to tell the potato eater that Arthur wasn't even in the country at the moment. It would have made the tall blond German frustrated for looking for someone who wouldn't be back until early evening, and Lovino wasn't sure if he wanted to deal with an angry potato head.

School passed with little excitement. Occasionally, glancing out the window, Lovino spotted Alfred running across the courtyard and repressed a snort. That idiot. When would he get the idea that Arthur wasn't here? Maybe Lovino should tell him that Arthur was in England or on the plane back to Hetalia. Maybe, but Lovino didn't feel like expending effort to open the window and yell at the obnoxious American in a similarly obnoxious manner. Eh, Lovino supposed that the bastard reaped what he sowed. If he had listened earlier, then the hamburger bastard wouldn't even be in this fix. Therefore, Lovino sat snugly in his seat, laid his head onto his arms, and closed his eyes, pondering what to prepare for dinner tonight.

They couldn't have the leftovers from lunch. That much was obvious since they were having a guest over. Even though Arthur scarfed down anything that Lovino made with vigor, as though every meal was his last supper (the thought made Lovino smile), the Italian wanted e_specially _to impress his lover tonight with dinner. This wasn't simply the two of them anymore; it was practically a declaration of war against his grandfather and his brother if they continued to oppose Lovino's decisions. This was his lo - l-l-lo-lov - _his life_, dammit, and like hell he was going to sit by and have them make all the decisions for him!

Once school was over, he marched out of the classroom with his brother and the potato eater following behind him. Lovino sauntered onto the courtyard before, much to his surprise and disgust, he was jumped by a heavy American. "Lovi! Have you found Artie yet?!" Alfred exclaimed before he knocked the Italian over from the force of his weight. Laughing sheepishly, he settled his weight on his knees, obliviously straddling the Italian boy, and chirped, "Whoops! Sorry about that!" He glanced at the red-faced brunet below him and added absently, "You're pretty hot. No wonder the girls dig you."

"Ch-Chi-Chigi!" Lovino screeched, promptly socking Alfred in the face. His fist barely missed Alfred's face. It managed to make impact with his nose, skewing his glasses, just as Alfred was being pulled away by the back of his shirt.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Alfred cried, flailing his arms in the air. "Whoever you are, calm down, bro!" His assailant then collared his shirt, and Alfred soon met with infuriated eyes glowering with a dangerous green flame and flickering with sparks of rage. "H-H-Hey, Arthur! It's not what it looks like, man! Where've ya been?!"

"Alfred Fucking Jones," Arthur seethed, steeling his eyes to the point where they were almost inhuman, "what the bloody hell were you thinking? You probably were _not _thinking _at all_, were you?"

"Yeah, I missed you, too, Artie."

The shorter of the blonds pulled back his left hand in one fluid motion and, defying the speed of light, smashed his fist into the side of Alfred's jaw. "Do not," the older of the two officers spat, "_ever _touch him. Do not _ever_ make such a dirty comment like that _ever _again. Whether it was an accident or not, if I _ever _catch you touching him like that again, I will personally castrate you. Understood?"

Alfred rubbed the bruise on his face with a pout on his lips. "I didn't mean to, Arthur! Honest! It was an accident!"

Arthur narrowed his eyes at Alfred, digging his hard gaze into heart, mind, and soul, before remarking, "You have to learn how to control your brute strength before I graduate, git. Understood?"

"Understood!"

With that, Alfred bounced back onto his feet, gave Arthur a quick one-armed hug that wasn't returned, and announced that he would catch up with his brother. Arthur sighed, raked his fingers through his hair, before giving Lovino a sheepish smile. The baffled Italian was pulled to his feet soon after while Ludwig and Feliciano stared in a similar bewilderment.

"Why are you back so early, bastard?" Lovino asked as he shuffled beside Arthur. The blond was dressed in a red tartan jacket with black zippers thrown askew over the fabric and a hood lined with brown fur, a loose but slim t-shirt with some name Lovino didn't know and a low cut collar that exposed a good portion of pale skin, a pair of moss colored cargo pants tucked into a pair of leather boots that were laced loosely halfway up his calves, and a good number of belts around his waist and hips. On his shoulder was the sports bag Lovino had seen him carry to England. Still, he looked good - better than good - _way _better than good - but the brunet wasn't planning to compliment him in front of his brother and his potato friend. Even though his pale hand was right there to take... Even though he could easily reach out and hold it... Even though Arthur was right in front of him... Lovino shook his head. Public displays of affection were Feliciano's thing. Like hell he'd be suckered into doing that shit. "I thought you'd be back by six. You're two damn hours early, bastard."

"You woke me up around seven in the morning when I was in England, so that was about eight here," Arthur began his explanation, trying to recall the figures. "The university called to reschedule an hour earlier. We got done in two hours. I checked online for an earlier flight, had it changed, and flew here at noon. I just got back and came to pick you up from school - walk you to work and shite." He smiled at Lovino, reaching for his hand despite the latter's protest (because, honestly, with that kind of blush and lame attempt to hide a smile, Arthur could see right through him), and mused, "I didn't think you'd cheat on me though."

"Chigi!" Lovino punched Arthur in the shoulder playfully.

The blond chuckled and added, "It felt weird, not seeing you."

"I think that's what people call the phenomenon 'missing someone,'" Lovino remarked sarcastically.

"Git."

"Bastard."

They smiled. Yeah, this felt about right.

Arthur's stomach growled.

"What? You didn't eat, dumbass?"

"I had a small breakfast, skipped lunch to fly early, and had a bag of peanuts on the flight," the older boy answered as a matter-of-factly, grinning sheepishly. "I wanted to eat your food."

Lovino clicked his tongue. "Were you starving yourself without me?"

"Of course not!" Arthur protested indignantly. He smirked and retorted, "Though I could use a delicious Italian treat tonight."

Lovino's face reddened sevenfold, and the aforementioned Italian treat smacked his lover upside the head before trying to hide his face with a curtain of dark hair. Unfortunately, Arthur had other plans and stopped him in the middle of the pavement, tilting Lovino's head upwards with a long, thin forefinger so that their eyes met, before pecking his lips swiftly with a fleeting kiss.

"We're at the pizzeria," Arthur announced, glancing behind them, and gave the younger boy an encouraging smile. "Work harder, all right? I have to see to Winston and Elizabeth now." When he walked away, Lovino stared at his back until he couldn't see the tartan anymore, and then he entered his workplace - Feliciano and Ludwig almost entirely forgotten.

* * *

At six o'clock, Lovino trekked from the pizzeria to Arthur's apartment. When the apartment complex _L'Oiseau Bleu_ came into view, the boy quickened his pace and gave his greetings to _Signorina _Jane before rushing into the elevator. He pressed for the twelfth floor and bounced on his heels in his momentary isolation, counting down to his destination. Once the elevator halted and the metal doors parted, Lovino bolted down the corridor and knocked eagerly on Arthur's door. The moment it opened, however, Lovino huffed impatiently and snapped, "Sure took you long enough, bastard."

"Belt up, git," Arthur remarked just as indignantly - meaning, hardly at all. His hair was messier than usual, and his clothes were rumpled. "I fell asleep."

"I can tell."

They spared each other a smile before the blond opened the door wider, allowing Lovino into the flat. "You've got homework?" Arthur inquired casually, eyeing his school bag curiously.

Lovino clicked his tongue in pure contempt. "Just before the winter festival, yeah," he answered, throwing his school bag on the floor right beside the sofa. He unzipped it and dug through the compartments to show Arthur the mathematics worksheets and the science report he had to finish before the end of the week. Plopping onto the sofa, Elizabeth hopped onto his lap, circling twice before setting down. Lovino stroked her fur almost immediately. "It's pretty stupid to have the damn winter festival, too, when we're going to be taking final exams soon."

"It's tradition," Arthur responded, taking a seat beside Lovino, noting that Winston was - _again _- asleep. "What can you do about that? Besides, the whole town loves the festivals. We might as well, right? It's a bloody hell lot of fun for those who actually enjoy it - not that I'm one of those people."

"Why's that?" Lovino was genuinely curious. Even his experiences with the winter festivals weren't that bad. Sure, the weather was cold, but he ended up having a decent time with his brother, Antonio, Antonio's equally stupid but somehow smarter friends, and even that potato eater - though he would never admit it aloud. The brunet watched as Arthur flipped through his worksheets with an almost nostalgic expression.

"Eh, I usually don't get a chance to enjoy it," the blond answered before slipping out a pair of black rimmed glasses he kept on the side-table for Lovino's visit. The brunet's heart raced as he watched Arthur push the reading glasses up the bridge of his nose. Fuck, how can glasses raise someone's physical attractiveness by _that _much?! "Because of the disciplinary committee crap, I have to patrol more than participate in the festival. I don't really plan to do that this year though. There shouldn't be much trouble during winter now. In my first and second year of high school, I had some followers on my tail. When I was a brat and visited my brothers' winter festivals, the frog was always around as well. The memories weren't that pleasant."

Huh, now that he thought about it, Lovino hadn't seen Arthur at the festivals last year despite having mutual friends - or acquaintances, depending on the persons. "Maybe this year it'll be better, bastard," Lovino suggested shyly as he inched closer to Arthur. His heart hammered in his chest nervously. Elizabeth hopped off his lap and scampered into Arthur's bedroom. "It's... It's your last year."

Arthur pursed his lips together, eyes shadowing heavily with foggy contemplation, before nodding curtly, "Right. It is. Might as well make the best of it." Shuffling through the papers until he was back on the first page, the blond gave Lovino a shy smile and asked courteously, "Do you need help?"

"Not on all of it, bastard. I'm not inept."

"Never said you were, darling."

Lovino froze. "What was that?"

"What was what?" Arthur ruffled the younger boy's hair affectionately before chirping, "Shall we get started, pet?"

"_Chigi_!"

Arthur laughed and peered over Lovino's shoulder as the younger boy began to go through his homework with a pencil, solving for x and whatnot. Occasionally, the blond gave his input, and between moments of kisses both rough and gentle, the hour Lovino usually spent on his homework was stretched into two. Just as the brunet shifted on the sofa to put away the worksheets and his textbook, Arthur stood onto his feet and announced that he would have to change his clothes. Lovino glanced at him up and down, noting the clean t-shirt and the cargo pants, before remarking, "Why? You look fine, bastard." His cheeks flushed in embarrassment as the double meaning of his words registered in his head.

Arthur gave Lovino a sheepish smile, pulled off his reading glasses, and said, "Not bloody likely. You might be okay with this attire, but your grandfather won't want to see me dressed like this. His first impression of me wasn't all that great, after all. I don't want to cause trouble in your own home."

Pecking Lovino on the head, the blond told the latter that he would be right back, so the Italian took to reaching over the side of the couch and fiddling with Winston's collar. It was made of classic brown leather, not decked with studs or spikes like Arthur's usual belts, and there was a military-style dog tag hanging off it. Ignoring how Winston was now lapping at his tan knuckles, Lovino flipped over the tag, his slim fingers brushing over the engraved letters. His hazel eyes skimmed over the address with which he had become too familiar before returning it back to its original position, the name "Winston" imprinted in military fashion.

Whispering in Italian, Lovino told Winston that he was incredibly lucky. No matter where Arthur would go, the dog would surely follow. Lovino couldn't go to England with him, and Arthur surely wouldn't stay here in Hetalia if he was given the opportunity of a lifetime for a better life. He could wait for him, but Lovino was scared that Arthur would never come back. All this time, he's been chasing after the blond, and even though he was so close now, he could be farther away, across the seas, in another land, forever in his own universe. The only time Lovino had with Arthur was now.

"Ready?"

The Italian ceased in his rambling and sat upright in a panic. Staring wide-eyed at Arthur, Lovino stammered apprehensively, heart hammering in his chest full of trepidation, "H-H-How much of it did you hear, bastard?!"

"I only heard my name," Arthur confessed softly as he approached Lovino tentatively. Collapsing onto the sofa, he continued, "The rest was in Italian. I didn't understand much of it. You don't have to feel so guarded, little ankle-biter. You want to talk about it?"

"N-Not really," Lovino replied shortly, fiddling with his fingers. He glanced over at Arthur and blushed. "It's only dinner with my family, bastard. You didn't have to dress up."

"It's _because_ it's dinner with your family that I have to dress up," the blond countered. He glanced at his outfit and remarked, "It's not overboard, is it? Smart casual, I would think." Arthur had changed into a white button down with a loosely-fitted beige cardigan, a black blazer, and boot-cut blue jeans. Black socks currently covered his feet. A mischievous grin danced its way onto his lips as Arthur reached for his reading glasses and placed them on the bridge of his nose before pushing them up properly. "How do I look?"

Lovino blushed. Sexy, he thought but answered, "You're so stupid. Let's go!" Jumping onto his feet, he threw his school bag over his shoulder and marched to the front door. He paused in his steps before stomping back towards his lover, pulling off the reading glasses, and chucking them onto the sofa. It wouldn't do if he was too fucking sexy in front of his brother and grandfather. Who knew what those bastards would do? Oblivious to Lovino's inner turmoil, Arthur chuckled and snatched his essentials off the coffee table - keys, phone, and wallet - before telling Lovino that he had to make sure that there was enough food for Winston and Elizabeth first across the entire floor of the flat.

"Do you want to ride the motorcycle?" Arthur inquired of Lovino from the kitchen as he refilled Winston's water bowl. He knew that there were some people who were strongly against them, after all, but considering that Lovino rode around town delivering pizzas on a moped, it should be okay.

Once he finished with Winston and Elizabeth's evening meal, Arthur shuffled about the flat for his two helmets and leather gloves and then met with Lovino at the door. There, he stepped into a pair of casual boots with his helmet under his arm. He handed the other helmet to Lovino, who held it cautiously as though it was a bomb. Arthur chuckled at the sight as he unlocked the door and let Lovino pass through it first.

"A-About the motorcycle," Lovino muttered timidly, flushing red.

"It'll be fine, Lovino. I'm a bloody excellent rider!"

The blond followed shortly after, locking up the door and escorting Lovino to the lift. There, his fingers linked together with Lovino's, and they simply stood in tranquil silence during their descent to the ground floor. After waving to Miss Jane, Arthur showed Lovino the way to the parking garage nearby. When the brunet saw that it was five levels high and after being told by Arthur that some residents had more than one car, he made a remark about rich bastards living in luxury, making the older boy laugh in amusement. Leading Lovino into the garage and to where he had parked his bike, Arthur slung one of his legs over the side before inserting his keys and igniting the engine. He threw on his helmet and stretched out a hand to the brunet, who was paling at the noise of the engine. Arthur chuckled and called out his name, assuring him in a collected voice, "It's not going to bite you, git."

Pouting, Lovino donned the helmet before shrugging his school bag onto his shoulder, making sure that everything was secured, and taking Arthur's hand. He flushed as he wrapped his arms around Arthur's middle tightly - so tight that he could feel Arthur's firm muscles press against him - in a death grip. Smiling at the touch, Arthur accelerated out of the garage and onto the streets, coaxing Lovino to direct him to his address.

* * *

The sound of motorcycle engines was foreign to Feliciano, who had only ever heard cars and mopeds and bicycle bells. Curiously, he peered out of his window blinds and saw a sleek black bike pull in front of his house. That's funny, Feliciano mused to himself, I think the Rampant Lion of England has the same bike. What's it doing in front of my house? Naturally, the younger Vargas twin was taken by surprise when he saw his brother take off the helmet from the back of the seat. His heart nearly rocketed out of his chest, up his throat, and through his mouth when he saw the Lion take off his helmet and kill the engine. Oh, what was his brother doing?! Feliciano scrambled from their bedroom, down the corridor and the stairs, before unlocking the front door in seemingly one fluid motion and slamming it open. Not having thought through his actions, the surface of the ivory door slammed into Lovino's forehead with a nasty _THUNK_! that made his older brother hiss in pain.

Rubbing his reddened forehead, trying to massage it better, Lovino narrowed his hazel eyes at Feliciano and seethed, "_Che cazzo stai facendo, idiota?!_"

"_Fratello, cosa sta succedendo_?" Feliciano inquired fervently as he glanced behind his brother to steal a glimpse of the Lion. He was well-dressed tonight, Feliciano had to admit, but he was still scary. Feliciano had caught sight of how his green eyes had glinted when Lovino's head had made impact with the door while he was fiddling with his keys. Little did he know that the eyes were actually sparkling with amusement, and Arthur was currently biting the inside of his lip to keep from laughing.

"_Sii educato_, Feliciano," Lovino demanded as he shoved his keys back into the pocket of his school bag. He pushed his brother inside the house and opened the door wider. "He's our dinner guest."

"Good evening, Feliciano," Arthur greeted the younger boy somewhat awkwardly. He didn't know if he should shake the smaller boy's hand or not. It would have been polite, but given how Feliciano nearly trembles every time he's approached by Arthur, perhaps it would be a smarter idea to avoid touching the lad.

He awkwardly stepped into the house, an average two-story building with white stone walls and a roof of rich maroon tiling, and glanced around the entrance as civilly as possible without seeming awfully rude. The hall leading into the home was filled with life, framed with all sorts of pictures involving the family. Arthur smiled upon seeing one frame with Lovino trying to escape the picture, face blurred with motion, but failing because of his grandfather's arms wrapped around the shoulders of his grandsons. Feliciano, on the other hand, was waving eagerly. It was strange how these identical twins were even more opposite than Alfred and Matthew. Nevertheless, it was touching how both sets worried for their brother.

Politely, Arthur asked his youngest host as he followed the Italian twins into their home, "How are you?"

The younger Vargas squeaked like a frightened mouse, emitting a shrill that sounded vaguely like, "_Bene!_" in response. He kept his gaze focused on the wooden floor, and once they reached the living room, he tried to escape Arthur's presence until Lovino stopped him by snatching his wrist and pulling him back.

Giving his brother a firm glare, Lovino told him in Italian to entertain Arthur while he changed into more comfortable clothes. Feliciano was about to protest until Lovino intensified his glare, and the younger shrunk under his vehement hazel eyes. It seemed like the puppy trick wouldn't work this time. He had never seen Lovino so forceful before! Sighing, Feliciano watched as his brother ascended the stairs. He turned on his heel and found that Arthur was peering at a picture frame curiously, intrigue clearly evident on his features. Feliciano glanced over his shoulder as far away from Arthur as possible.

"Ah," Feliciano found himself speaking. When Arthur shifted his attention to focus on the younger Vargas twin, Feliciano fidgeted nervously before answering, "That's a picture of _Fratello _and me and _Mamma _and _Papà_."

"They are beautiful," Arthur complimented sincerely with a smile. "You must have loved them very much."

"I do," Feliciano replied shortly, shifting his weight anxiously, subtly correcting the verb tense in Arthur's previous statement. "_Fratello _said that you were staying for dinner?"

"Oh, yes," Arthur straightened himself, "I hope that isn't a problem."

"No, no!" someone exclaimed from behind. "_Tutto va bene! _Everything is fine!" _Nonno_ stepped into the scene from the staircase, smiling widely at Arthur though there was little warmth in his eyes as he evaluated the blond. "Although... I worry about you, _giovanotto_, since you are a student. Do you not have books to study?"

Arthur returned Nonno's smile courteously out of sheer politeness. "It's a pleasure to meet you again, Mr Vargas. There really is no need to concern yourself with my studies. There isn't much to do now that it's almost time for the winter festivities. Thank you for the thought though."

It'll be a long night.


	23. Chapter 23 - Dishonest People

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Two Dishonest People**

The Vargas household was fairly large for only three people. Arthur's nerves were bundling together every time he heard the heels of his boots click and clack against the wooden floor. Arthur avoided stepping on the expensive looking (nevertheless, no doubt it was truly expensive) modern-styled rug on the floor, manoeuvring around the curved white sofa in the centre of the room as Feliciano fidgeted in a fashion that revealed that the lad was even more nervous than Arthur by almost ten levels.

Oh, he hoped that Lovino would change his clothes faster than ten seconds because he knew that Feliciano didn't like him in the same way that Lovino didn't like Ludwig. Trying to brush aside and ignore the obvious tension in the room, Arthur's green eyes roamed the living room curiously, finding ivory walls decorated with paintings and framed photographs. It was much more homely than the flat. Arthur couldn't help but feel as if all this space was dedicated to the memorabilia rather than to shelter a family. There was a faint scent of cooking as well - smells of vegetables, tomatoes, and wine - lingering on the furniture and clinging onto the surfaces of the room. Arthur smiled at the realisation. How pleasant.

Green eyes caught a hint of a picture in a frame, and the blond was unable to resist temptation. Although it was rude to pry, Arthur considered his actions more admiring than prying. Well, excuses were but excuses. Nevertheless, keeping his hands away from the frame, Arthur bent over, examining the image behind the glass by leaning closer and closer. The more he stared, the wider he smiled.

There was a middle aged woman with curled locks of brown hair and coppery brown eyes that sparkled with euphoria like that of Feliciano's. She was dressed in a simple white one piece, and her small hands were covering her lips, hiding what Arthur could only assume to be a brilliant white smile, while her eyes focused not on the camera but on the tall man in the frame with her, holding a pair of twins on his broad shoulders. His hair was darker than hers, and his eyes were a darkened shade of green, blended with rich, earthy brown. On his left shoulder, he balanced a boy with a timid smile, and on his right was a boy with a beaming smile. It wasn't hard to tell which one was which, in Arthur's opinion.

"Ah." Arthur turned. Feliciano fidgeted. "That's a picture of _Fratello _and me and _Mamma _and _Papà_."

Arthur gave Feliciano a gentle smile, one he usually wore around children, so that he didn't intimidate the younger boy any further. "They are beautiful," the blond commented sincerely. Really, it was a wonderful family photo. Arthur only ever remembered - _remembered_ being the key word - taking a family photo once or twice. "You must have loved them very much."

"I do," Feliciano replied shortly, still avoiding contact with Arthur. The blond obliged to his silent request and didn't prolong conversation. Instead, he straightened himself before stiffening at a familiar voice. Mr Vargas. Feliciano and Lovino's grandfather.

"Is that your motorcycle out front, _giovanotto_?" Mr Vargas inquired, pointing out the window. "It caused quite a disturbance, no? You should be more courteous to the neighbors." He narrowed his eyes then. "Did you take Romano here on it?"

"Yes, sir, I did," Arthur replied as kindly as possible after being antagonised. His smile twitched slightly, and he hoped that Mr Vargas hadn't noticed. Nevertheless, he brought himself to explain, "I have helmets, sir, two of them. They are in the boot right now, but I made sure that Lovino wore one and held onto me tightly."

Crap. Wrong choice of words. Mr Vargas' gaze darkened immensely. "He held onto you?" the elder repeated venomously. "Was this a ploy, _gio _- ?"

"_Nonno_!" Lovino shrilled from the top of the stairs. The older Vargas twin scrambled down the staircase and stepped in front of his lover, glaring adamantly at his grandfather. "If we hadn't taken the motorcycle, then we would have been late. We were careful, okay, _Nonno_? Everyone is safe, _sì?"_ Huffing, Lovino crossed his arms and stated, "I'll prepare the pasta now." In other words, while I'm busy, play nice.

Feliciano seemed to brighten at this statement and followed his brother into the kitchen to assist. There was no doubt that he was relieved to be replaced from entertaining duties, leaving the responsibility to his grandfather. Accordingly, Mr Vargas gestured to the sofa, and although Arthur eyed him wearily, the Briton sat down politely. "How long have you known Romano?" the elder Italian man inquired of the blond. "Not long, I suppose?"

"Compared to his other friends, most likely," Arthur answered as amicably as he could, undeterred by the prodding. "I met him at the beginning of this school year, so that would be - " Arthur counted on his fingers " - about nine months."

"How did you two meet?"

"Lovino is in Class 2-A," Arthur replied politely, "which I had last academic year. I dropped by the classroom for memory's sake."

"You forgot that you were a third year," Mr Vargas concluded. Arthur couldn't deny the assumption because it was true. Instead, he gave a sheepish smile, but Mr Vargas wasn't too swayed, impressed, or even mildly amused by that. The elder Italian man remarked, "You are not an honest boy."

"I... I'm sorry? I beg your pardon?" Arthur responded cautiously.

"You are not yourself the way you are now," Mr Vargas retorted. "I can see that you are restraining yourself, _giovanotto_. In all my life, I have seen all kinds of people, and you... you remind me of someone with whom I was close - masquerading around on the tip of your toes, cautious of everything you do, of everything you say. Do you know what I think of that?" The elder man gave Arthur a pointed look. Arthur did not respond to his rhetorical question. "I would not give my grandson to such a dishonest person."

"With all due respect - "

"See? See? _That _right there," Mr Vargas pointed an accusing finger at Arthur, "is _un cardico di merda_ - a load of shit." The elder leaned forward, his cold brown eyes connecting and locking with Arthur's defiant green orbs, and remarked, "You are not the boy you present yourself to be, _giovanotto_. You act polite and courteous, but I know that you're not like this. You are defiant, rebellious, querulous, pugnacious - _troublesome_. I know your story. You have power, and you have strength. But can you protect? _I_ don't know, and I know that _you _don't know. What I do know is this: you are no good for Romano. You will hurt him because you hide behind your mask. You are a coward, _Signor Leone_." He spat the title vehemently. "Nothing more than _un piccolo cucciolo di leone_, a little lion cub."

Before Arthur had a chance to defend himself, Mr Vargas reclined in the sofa and turned on the television. "Do you like football? Antonio loves football," the Italian man mused aloud, flipping through the channels. Arthur knew that he wasn't simply speaking his thoughts, however. The man was purposely goading him, attempting to rouse him. "He is a good boy. It is a shame he and Romano had broken up. He is an honest child. Handsome, too."

Arthur smoothed his ruffled feathers and bit his tongue, pressing the metal stud against the roof of his mouth as he attempted to placate his simmering anger. "Yes, sir," Arthur agreed momentarily, "Carrie - _Antonio _- is a good lad. His honesty is his best trait. He plays well - football, that is." He spoke only of the truth even though, once again, he restrained his sarcasm from bleeding into his words. Rather, Carriedo's honesty is his best trait among the few that he possessed.

"Do you play any?" Mr Vargas asked him. He paused for a moment, glanced briefly at Arthur, before answering his own question. "Well, you _are _British. That reminds me, they also say the English are cold and aloof. It must be because of this - " he flapped a hand at Arthur " - politeness. They are probably too stiff and uptight to be a proper lover, but the British may make excellent policemen."

"It is the most popular sport in the United Kingdom," Arthur replied nonchalantly, trying to brush off the poke at his nationality. The last thing he needed was to explode at Lovino's grandfather, get kicked out of the house, and cause trouble for his friend - well, no, not a friend, Arthur had pushed far past that and further beyond with the kisses - lover, he supposed, but they had never officially stated that - in his own home. "I used to play with my brothers."

"Oh?" Mr Vargas responded - this time with genuine curiosity - as he arched an eyebrow. "You have brothers?"

"Yes, sir," Arthur answered politely. "I have four of them."

"Your mother must have been trying for that little girl."

Arthur cracked an authentic smile that caught Mr Vargas' attention. The elder man peered at Arthur closely for a moment when the boy was distracted. "She did, sir," he replied in a distant voice. "During the first few weeks of her pregnancy with me, she kept telling my older brothers that she was going to name me Alice and that they ought to take care of me. Of course, that changed after the ultrasound. She named me Arthur, and my brothers picked on me more than they cared for me."

Grandpa Rome could faintly understand what Romano meant when he said that Arthur Kirkland was sometimes distant and far away. It had nothing to do with neglecting his grandson, no. The English boy was merely off on another planet, out of this world, thinking of times past, taken with the fairies. There was something bitter and miserable in his visage that made it agonizing to stare at him for so long. There was something about the boy that made people want to care for him when his face was so tortured.

"You love your family, _giovanotto_?"

"I do, sir. I can't hate them."

"That's good."

They were quiet.

Lovino's voice rang through the house then, reaching all corners and crevices and bouncing off the walls, announcing that dinner was ready. The older Vargas twin had waited for the right moment, Arthur concluded, because that was simply impeccable timing. Mr Vargas stood onto his feet, gave Arthur an actual smile, and gestured for the boy to proceed to the kitchen. "Romano's cooking is _il migliore in assoluto_ - the absolute best!" Mr Vargas whispered to Arthur, beaming with pride. "But don't tell him that I said that! He blushes, gets all embarrassed, and insists that I'm only being nice and that I don't mean it! He gets his modesty from his mother!"

Arthur smiled. Oh, he knows, but there was no reason to burst the grandfather's bubble. Green eyes observed his newest surroundings. The wooden floor continued into the dining room, and the ivory walls subtly lightened to a whiter shade. There was a dining table in the centre of the room, set on a classy rug, carved from dark wood with six matching and elegantly carved chairs. On one wall, there was a glass cabinet carved from the same wood, containing precious white porcelain plates and equally expensive china and bottles of both red and white wine. A crystal chandelier was strung from the ceiling, hovering over the dining table, illuminating the room.

Feliciano was setting plates of pasta onto the table in front of the four chairs that faced each other before sitting down at one seat. Lovino sauntered into the room holding a bottle of wine and arched an eyebrow at Arthur. He raised the wine bottle, Chianti, Arthur noted, and asked, "You okay with wine, bastard? I know you like beer, so..." He blushed. "You don't mind?"

"Not at all," Arthur replied with an assuring smile that seemed to put Lovino at ease. "You _are_ the gourmet, after all. I trust you."

"Shut up, bastard," Lovino grumbled as he began to pour the wine unsteadily with shaking hands. He pulled out a chair. "Here, sit. Eat. Enjoy. It's _penne_ _alla marinara_."

"Smells delicious," Arthur responded as he took his seat. Finished with pouring wine into their glasses, Lovino took the spot next to Arthur while Feliciano sat across from him and Mr Vargas across from Arthur. "What did you put in it?"

"Herbs, garlic, onions, some other things you don't know about - oh, and Italian sausage," Lovino answered offhandedly as he began forking his pasta. "Not like that wurst crap the albino bastard puts on top of his pizza."

Arthur moaned silently after he swallowed a forkful of pasta with some of the Italian sausage. "So much better than Gilbert's wurst pizza. I swear I get weird dreams after eating that." Lovino couldn't hide his smirk as he forked more pasta. Judging by Arthur's expression, one would have thought he had never had a decent meal before in his life.

"No shit," Lovino responded curtly. "Some things aren't meant to be eaten together - or at all. I'm happy I managed to save your taste-buds before it was too late."

"You're a nasty little bugger, Lovino."

Feliciano and Grandpa Rome stared, amazed, at the casual exchange across from them. Lovino was never this casual with Antonio; the latter always took the brunt of Lovino's verbal attacks. However, Arthur was capable of standing on even level and returning the favor. After all, it takes two to tango.

"We still have _secondo piatto_, bastard," Lovino reminded, nudging Arthur lightly in the ribs. "Don't eat or drink too much."

"Yes, Mum," was the sardonic reply.

"Chigi! Don't drink too much either, bastard! You're just gulping that shit?! _Che cazzo_?! Were you raised in a barn?! You _sip _wine, dammit! And don't drink too much! You're driving back, remember?"

"First of all, you don't _drive_ a motorcycle; you _ride_ it. Secondly, _git_, this is good! Let me enjoy this!"

Suddenly, it was only the two of them in the room. Arthur had forgotten to change Mr Vargas' first impression, and Lovino had forgotten about his declaration of war. There was only the two of them, and for the longest time, it would only be the two of them. They bickered with each other, smiling with each other to each other, chuckling in amusement, giggling like schoolchildren, poking and prodding mischievously, stealing food off each other's plate, before Lovino stood up to bring them the second course with Feliciano, recalling that they were in the company of his family. The two brothers placed a basket of bread sticks and a bowl of salad on the center of the table before serving everyone a dish with a small slice of meat, drizzled with sauce and decorated with herbs, refilling everyone's glasses except for Arthur, who had to ride back to his apartment with a clear mind. They gave him a glass of cold water instead. Dinner continued without so much of an input from Feliciano, who began to worry less about Arthur after seeing his brother smile, or Mr Vargas, who was watching amused. Yes, by now, he was certain that Lovino was never this energetic with Antonio. It wasn't too bad.

After finishing off his dessert, a slice of ricotta cheesecake, Arthur was absolutely stuffed and positively bloated. He shook hands with Mr Vargas on a lighter note, and Lovino escorted him to the door. Of course, unbeknownst to the pair, Lovino's grandfather had followed them as well. At Arthur's bike, the blond was leaning against the vehicle, holding Lovino tightly against his chest, cloaked only by the darkness. "That was wonderful, Lovino," he complimented the Italian. "I always love your cooking."

"T-Th-Thanks... _Grazi,_ Ar-Arthur," the Italian stammered shyly. He pressed his ear against the blond's chest, listening to the rapid pounding in the latter's chest. "Fuck, your heart..."

"Yeah," Arthur responded softly. "I know."

Lovino laughed softly. "I thought it was only me..."

"Not at all, little ankle-biter," Arthur replied affectionately. "It's the two of us together." He leaned closer, brushing his lips against Lovino's, before pressing a kiss against those plush lips softly, gently, tenderly, and pulling away. He smiled. "That wasn't such a bad dinner, was it?"

"I-It's not like... eating with your family, is it?" Lovino inquired meekly and hesitantly. "I... I heard what you said about your mother and your brothers..."

Arthur chortled, his smile turning nostalgic. "Yeah, I was supposed to be 'Alice,'" the blond confirmed. "She loved the idea of Wonderland, a world where nothing made sense, where the illogical was the logical, because it was so... so _magical_." He gave Lovino a warm smile. "Is that why you invited me over? To dine with your family because I don't have mine?"

Lovino blushed, hoping that Arthur couldn't see it in the dark. "W-Well, I d-don't have a m-mom either, so..."

"Thank you, Lovino," the blond mused, pressing a kiss on the top of his head. "It was better than any family dinner I've ever experienced. Thank you. Thank you so much."

"Bastard, don't make me say such embarrassing shit..."

"Sorry about that, git."

"Artù! Arturo Kirkland!"

Lovino leapt out of Arthur's arms, and the blond shoved his hands into his pockets. "Yes, sir!" he replied, keeping the tremors out of his voice, as his eyes focused on the figure of Mr Vargas in the doorway.

The elder man was leaning against the threshold, arms crossed, and said, "_Signor Cucciolo di Leone_, drive back home safely, _capito_? You are a good boy, dishonest but good, but I do not know if you are suitable for _mio caro _Romano." He smiled. "Come back again, okay? We'll get to know each other over _birra_!"

Arthur grinned. "Yes, sir! Of course!"

"And drop the 'sir'! It makes me feel old!"

Arthur laughed. "Yes, Boss!"

Romulus Vargas returned the grin and closed the door behind him to give the boys some privacy. He whistled a little tune, climbing up the stairs, as he mused to himself. Arthur Kirkland was a little lion cub without a mother or father behind whom to hide. He had teeth and claws but an underdeveloped roar. He knew little of himself but plenty about others to avoid what would hurt them. He was dishonest, relying on masks to get along life, until he met with Lovino, with whom masks were entirely useless. Arthur Kirkland would grow into a fine young man, but who knew what was to happen along the way? Romulus hadn't even seen half of the things that had happened to him, and Arthur... He reminded Romulus of himself and of his beloved Rosa Maria.

He would make a fine addition to the _famiglia_. Romulus wondered if he would see great-grandchildren in the distant future. It would be nice to have a big family like Antonio's.

* * *

"Arrrthuuurrr!" Gilbert sang at the top of his lungs as he pounced onto the young blond, slapping an arm around the Briton's shoulders. The momentum made the smaller of the two stumble to the side and glare at the albino with glowering emeralds. "Oh man, it's so awesome that you're here! We can vote with a full class now! Where were you yesterday anyway?"

"England," Arthur replied shortly, shrugging off Gilbert's arm. "I got back at four."

"That's so not awesome," Gilbert remarked dryly. "Jones and the others searched all over the school for you, you know? Franny and I crashed town trying to look for you. Picked up some girls instead... Well, Franny did."

Arthur gave his so-called friend an incredulous glare. "Those berks," the Englishman remarked, "why on earth would they think that they would find me at school when I wasn't at school?"

"It was Jones' idea!"

"Of course, it was, the little twit," Arthur grunted.

Gilbert grinned. "His conclusion was a lot better than ours! Franny, Toni, and I thought that... Well, you got into trouble again," the albino mentioned absently. He decided to leave his response vague. He didn't need to mention Alistair so early in the morning and spoil Arthur's mood. It would ruin their day, and that would not be awesome at all. "So what do you want to do with our class for the festival?"

"There's only ten of us," Arthur remarked. "What _can _we do?"

"I'm sure we can think of something!" Gilbert crowed. "We _are _the top ten of the school! And, if we don't, then we'll just rope some of the other guys into it, too! Come along now, Artie!" Gilbert replaced his arm around Arthur's shoulder, dragging the unwilling blond to their classroom, while chattering loudly about some ideas that other students were likely to steal. Of course, knowing Gilbert, all of this was for show. The albino was more than likely to have better ideas to share with their class behind closed doors. Although he didn't seem the type to sit down and have a game of chess, Gilbert's expertise was strategy. There was no doubt in Arthur's mind that his friend was planning to do something big. The only obstacle in the way is convincing the other nine members of the advanced class to go along with his whims.

Well, other eight members. Arthur didn't really care.

Bursting through the doors of the classroom, Gilbert threw Arthur inside, kicking the blond forward with the sole of his runners, and slammed the door shut. As Arthur slunk into his seat, Francis asked him about yesterday, and Gilbert did a quick headcount. The Briton glanced at the Frenchman before replying, "I was in England. I had an interview."

"An interview? _Mon cher_, I don't understand why you would want to go to a place where your accent is not _exotique_." Francis grinned deviously. "You would not pick up any girls solely on 'British charm,' you know? You would have to learn new tricks, but it would have made more sense to go to _Amérique_ - "

"I'm not going back to England to _flirt_, you bloody frog," Arthur grumbled under his breath, kicking the leg of Francis' desk when the Frenchman proved to be farther away. It seemed that Francis had anticipated an attack.

"_Mais oui_, you are probably one of the coldest people I have ever known. I would laugh the day I hear you whispering Shakespearean sonnets to your little lover, but Lovi would probably punch you in the face first out of embarrassment," Francis remarked dryly. "So? How did it go?"

"Eh, as well as any other interview: fucking awful."

"Alright, people! Let's get started!" Gilbert snapped at the front of the class, slamming his palms onto the surface of the podium, startling Heracles awake. He turned around and began to scribble something on the board in black marker. "For the Winter Festival, I have this awesome proposal that you cannot just reject!"

"'S-Class Awesome Wrestling Tournament'?" Elizaveta read aloud with clear disdain on her features. "_Wrestling_?! Gilbert, you have _got _to be joking!"

"He's not," Arthur commented monotonously, narrowing his green eyes at the cackling albino in the front of the class. "Just look at him. He's completely taken with this rubbish."

"_Mon ami_, can't we do something more - oh, I don't know - _tasteful_?" Francis sneered with sarcasm dripping from his tongue. "Could we not open a café?"

"Please, like the other ten classrooms? So not awesome," Gilbert countered, pointing the tip of the marker at Francis with one hand, the other resting on his hip, as he puffed his chest like a rooster full of haughty and pompous confidence. "I've done my research, and almost every class is doing something related to food! There are all kinds of stalls out front, and then a good number of second years are doing cafés. I found out that 3-A is pulling off a haunted house because they have Lukas, Vlad, and Braginski, so we can't do that! Then there's a bunch of other classes doing games! What's left for us? Entertainment!"

"So why don't we do a play or something?" Yao suggested.

"Because that's what the drama club is doing! Then there's the battle of the bands in the gymnasium from six to nine, so that's out of the question! Then I realized!" Gilbert slammed the palm of his hand against the dry-erase board to emphasise his point. Arthur rolled his eyes. "What are we - well, the majority of us - good at?! Fighting! Me and Lizbet! Arthur and Francis! Kiku and Yao! That's sixty percent of the class! If we can rope in a few more competitors, then we'll be solid!"

"Does it have to be _wrestling_?" Francis whined. "It can't be something more dignified? Like fencing?"

Gilbert smirked, and Arthur knew what he was thinking. He had them roped into his scheme, or, rather, he had them roped into his scheme from the very start. Everyone was a pawn in Gilbert's plan. That much was obvious when the albino negotiated the rules regarding weapons (nothing that can cause serious injuries) with his nine classmates and when Gilbert rung up Mathias, Antonio, Alfred, and Ivan on his phone. When it came to parties and festivals, there was only one route to go about things, and it was Gilbert's way. There was no other option, no other opinion, because Gilbert knew what was awesome and what was not.

Or so the German would like to think.

Because there was also something Elizaveta would like to refer as _her _way, Gilbert's way would almost immediately be challenged. The two of them bickered back and forth, hurling insults as much as they were flinging reasons and rebuttals, while Arthur began to rest his head in his arms much like Heracles, who seemed to have fallen back asleep. Their homeroom teacher had tried - in a half-arsed manner from Arthur's perspective - to quell the quarrelling that somehow diffused to the other students, each taking either Gilbert's or Elizaveta's (the majority leaning towards Elizaveta) side.

"Fine, fine!" Gilbert snapped, pounding his fist against the podium a few good times like a judge's gavel to restore order in the classroom. "We'll change the name to the 'Awesome Rampant Lion Battle Tournament,' alright?!"

...what did the git just say?

"Take out the 'Awesome'!" Elizaveta persisted. "Replace it with 'S-Class' or 'Special'!"

"If we really want to make a selling," Yao pushed further, "replace 'Awesome' with 'Special Edition - Limited Time Only'!"

"That's too long! It's not going to sell that way!" Vash protested. "We need something catchy!"

"Wait a bleeding minute!" Arthur stood up from his seat, rocking his chair and knocking it back a few inches but not with enough force to topple over, and narrowed his eyes at his so-called friend standing at the front of the class, staring deep into Gilbert's ruby eyes with a dark glare. Gilbert tried to stand straight and forced back the slight intimidation he felt. "Repeat the name of the blasted event, Gilbert."

"The Awesome Rampant Lion Battle Tournament?"

Arthur palmed his forehead, dragging his hand down his face as thought to wipe off the irritation before raking his hand through his hair in blatant aggravation. The blond inquired in a deadpan, "Why 'The Awesome Rampant Lion Battle Tournament'?"

"Beeecaaauuuuseee..." Gilbert dragged out the letters in the single word, stretching out the two syllables to form three, as he contemplated an answer that would hopefully satisfy his blond friend. "...everyone wants to fight you, Artie."

"Well, fuck that. _I_ don't want to fight everyone!"

"It's true, you know! You're just that awesome!" Gilbert chirped.

"Bollocks! And the rest of you wankers agree with him?"

"We would make quite a profit," Yao pointed out.

Vash nodded his head in agreement. "There's also a prize for the best event at the festival," the Swiss mentioned.

"We want the prize, _Rosbif_," Francis declared firmly. "On top of earning funds for this club, we would receive the cash prize. Do you know what we could do with that cash prize?"

"Enlighten me, Frog."

Francis smirked. "A new room. All for us. Instead of this claustrophobic heap."

Arthur was silent.

"Take out the 'Awesome,' you git. It sounds bloody idiotic."

Meanwhile, on the floor right below them, Ludwig stood at the front of the class much like his own brother. However, instead of asserting his ideas upon his classmates, the blond brought his fist upon the podium, the thundering impact reverberating off the walls of the classroom, and demanded silence. Everyone in the room stilled. His icy blue eyes transformed into cold steel as he declared that anyone with an idea was to raise their hand and speak upon receiving acknowledgement and permission within a two minute and forty-five seconds limit. Nobody seemed to respond, so he jerked a forefinger towards his friend and announced, "I nominate my friend, Feliciano Vargas, to speak!"

Feliciano stared at his friend in bewilderment, as though he had no idea of what was going on in the class (but Ludwig and Lovino and a good majority of their classmates bet on that case), before smiling and chiming, "Veee~ How about pasta?"

Lovino dropped his forehead onto the surface of his desk, a loud smack echoing in the room. Did the stupid potato eater really think that he could have gotten any _plausible_ or _credible_ idea from Feliciano? Other than drawing, painting, and sculpting crap, the idiot didn't have much of a sense for anything else. The only reason Feliciano had even made it to the A-Class was because Lovino and the stupid potato made sure that he passed...and did most of the homework for him.

"That's... That's a good idea, Feliciano!" Ludwig praised his younger brother. Lovino felt his eyebrow twitch. Was the potato head serious? Pasta? What could they do with pasta, dammit? You cook it and then eat it like they had for dinner last night... Last night, Lovino blushed and buried his face into his arms, _Nonno_ had done one hell of a job embarrassing him. Really, what was that old man thinking? Inviting Arthur to come over, drink beer, and talk? Honestly, Lovino didn't know if his grandfather despised Arthur or what. Speaking of Arthur, he seemed to have enjoyed dinner last night. Lovino hoped that the blond had felt at home after he had gotten over that awkward as fuck conversation with his _Nonno_. Did the two of them think that he couldn't hear them from the kitchen? Whatever. Anyway, what was the potato bastard saying again? "An Italian café sounds original..."

Oh. That's what he thought Feliciano meant by "pasta." Lovino snorted. As long as it involved pasta, his idiot younger brother was fine. Besides, it wasn't like Lovino cared if anyone in this goddamned class could cook authentic Italian cuisine in particular or anything... Okay, that was a lie. He wouldn't ever eat shit food, and if these bastards couldn't cook worth crap, then forget it. He wouldn't help.

"Ve, but nobody can cook like _Fratello _can!" Feliciano exclaimed, his coppery eyes wide with panic. "_Fratello_ cooks amazingly, but there's only one of him! He can't do all of it by himself, ve!"

"Chigi! You idiot! What do you think you're doing - mentioning that to the entire class?!" Lovino snapped angrily at his brother, shooting upright in his seat, cheeks flushing red with embarrassment.

"But it's true, ve!" Feliciano protested with a dopey smile on his lips. "_Fratello _makes the best food, but he's very picky when it comes to culinary skills! He ends up cooking alone most of the time because I always do something wrong! It wouldn't be fair if he was the only one cooking!"

"Why the hell are you talking like I'm not even in front of you, _idiota_?!" Lovino screeched, the red deepening into a darker color, more crimson than tomato. He could hear the whispers behind him. Feli doing something wrong when it comes to art? Ridiculous! ...or some shit like that. Fuck them, Lovino thought bitterly, Feliciano knew art, and if his idiot brother who never praised Lovino when it came to music or art or writing or any other shit suddenly glorifies his fucking cooking, then you bastards better take it at face value!

Ludwig didn't seem to be aware of the slight stir caused by Feliciano and Lovino's one-sided exchange. Instead, the German nodded his head, analyzing and evaluating the new pieces of information, before suggesting, "Maybe we can do an international café instead of simply an Italian one. It would be quite ridiculous to have your brother cook entire meals by himself." After all, Ludwig doubted that Lovino would take it upon himself to teach a bunch of high school students how to cook traditional Italian meals. "We could have meals from Western and Eastern Europe on top of Mediterranean meals and meals from Asia and Africa as well."

Lovino clicked his tongue but said nothing. Leave it to the potato to take charge. He didn't even ask for anyone's opinion or questions, comments, or concerns. If he hadn't been so interested in the news club, then he would have made one hell of a student council president. Hell, if Arthur hadn't gotten into any fights his first year of high school, Lovino would bet that he would be the president right now instead of Yao Wang. Ah, but that probably wouldn't be a good thing, Lovino realized, because they wouldn't have met - ah, shit! What the hell was he doing?! Thinking about Arthur?! He had to focus before he was roped into doing something he didn't want to do, dammit! Knowing how everyone always got carried away with planning, he would be nominated for some shit like -

"Ve! I think _Fratello_ should be the head chef!"

- like _that_.

Lovino dropped his forehead onto the surface of his desk, a loud smack echoing in the room. What was his stupid _fratello_ thinking?

* * *

**A/N: **Another important arc is coming up! A storm is coming! After all, do you know what winter symbolises?

The end is near.


	24. Chapter 24 - One Last Time

**Chapter Twenty-Four: One Last Time**

"This is bloody ridiculous," Arthur complained as he worked together with Elizaveta and Gupta on sewing the costumes Gilbert demanded to have done. Since they were already ahead of their studies, the special advanced class was given the entire week in class to work on their event for the festival coming in two weeks. Anything they did not finish would have to be done after school, of course, since the teacher wasn't _that_ lenient... even though, everyone noted, the ten students did dictate the majority of class time most days.

At the moment, nearby Arthur's station with Elizaveta and Gupta, Kiku was working together with Heracles to paint promotional posters that they had planned together as a group on the surface formed by four desks pushed together, surrounded by buckets of paints and arrays of markers. Yao, Vash, and Neeraja were all searching for an equilibrium price and quantity for their tickets while Francis and Gilbert were in the front, planning how to arrange the matches in the most dramatic fashion and to put together the theatrical effects.

The griping blond then raised a tacky red cape in front of him with obvious disdain before flinging _that _one aside rather carelessly - as though it hurt his eyes just looking. Well, in Arthur's defence, it _was _reflecting light. How gaudy. "Is Jones really planning on wearing a superhero costume?" the Briton grunted. Well, he thought to himself, better him than me. Arthur returned to his current project: Kiku's deep crimson cloak. Right now, he was embroidering a sort of lion-dog-dragon creature he had seen in Japantown to compliment the cherry blossoms he had already finished.

"Everyone is wearing a cloak at the climax," Elizaveta responded with a sigh. She herself wasn't too thrilled with having to wear such a plain cloak. It was so fourteenth century, for God's sake! At the impromptu meeting arranged yesterday during lunch, Gilbert and Francis had gathered the other major players in the tournament to discuss costume and battle arrangements as well as "superhero" or "wrestler" names Alfred and Gilbert had insisted on having. Of course, the idea of having "superhero" or "wrestler" names was rejected at the drop of a hat. Still, both Alfred and Gilbert were also so adamant and stubborn on wearing something "cool" and "awesome," so the others had reluctantly caved into their demands. However, Arthur had left the classroom quietly during negotiations since he allegedly had a prior engagement, leaving Kiku to make the logical arguments on his behalf. Had he stayed, then maybe he would have had been able to persuade Gilbert and Alfred otherwise, and Elizaveta made sure that he knew this, remarking, "It was one of the compromises we've agreed on that _you_ hadn't participated in the other day, so no complaining!"

"I'm surprised you're not complaining about sewing," Gupta pointed out quietly before returning to his own work as though he hadn't spoken yet. After he wrapped up the final piece of Gilbert's cloak, cutting off the thread with his teeth, the Egyptian remarked, "You're quite skilled at it though."

Arthur blushed lightly at the compliment, especially when Elizaveta gushed about the detailed golden embroidery on Kiku's crimson cape, influenced by Oriental designs he had spotted once in Chinatown. His mother had been smitten by embroidery, and he always took to watching her while she worked on her projects in her free time since she appeared so peaceful. She had particularly enjoyed teaching Arthur a few tricks, and the boy had committed them to memory. Call him effeminate though, and he would sock someone in the face faster than the speed of light. Still, being praised about embroidering was something he wasn't used to hearing, so the blond stammered, "Y-Yeah? Well, it's not hard..." Well, it wasn't any more. It used to be.

"Nothing is ever hard for you, _mon cher_," Francis remarked from the front of the room. "If there is anything at which you are terrible besides your cooking, it would be your artwork! It lacks _finesse_!" Arthur saluted him with two fingers, making the Frenchman laugh in amusement, and grumbled about how he never wanted to be an _artist_ anyway. Not one that painted or sketched or sculpted. Arthur was a lost case with visual works although he _could _appreciate them.

"Arthur, can you embroider my cloak as well?" Elizaveta requested with a friendly smile. "You don't have to worry about sewing the pieces together! Leave that to me and Gupta! That way, you can finish them off however you like!"

Arthur recalled an elegant flower design that would suit Elizaveta well - better than the plain fabric of the cloak itself, he supposed. He gave her a polite nod and a courteous smile, replying, "Of course, I'd be delighted to oblige."

"Great!" Elizaveta chirped contently before working the sewing machine with twice the speed she had before.

Arthur blinked at her sudden productivity while Gupta smiled in amusement. Still, the blond returned to Kiku's cape, finishing it off so that he could work on Elizaveta's cape as promised. After that, he had to stitch a Prussian eagle patch onto Gilbert's and a flashy Superman patch to stitch on Jones'. Other than that, he still had to embroider snowflakes on Braginski's cape, a Viking symbol of strength on Mathias', an iris flower on Francis', and matador patterns on Carriedo's. Arthur could feel the beginning of arthritis at the tips of his fingers. Bloody brilliant.

"By the way," Elizaveta mentioned shortly, "have you memorized the script?"

"Right, wrestling is scripted, isn't it?" Gupta mused aloud.

Elizaveta nodded in response, and then the brunette hummed to herself appraisingly as she held up the finished product, a large coat that would hopefully fit Mathias Kohler if the measurements taken at the meeting yesterday were accurate and precise. If they weren't, and everyone frowned at this thought, then they would have to start all over - starting with having to buy more fabric. Considering how large the Dane was, the cost of such fabric was a rather hefty sum.

"The ending is bloody ridiculous as well," Arthur replied blatantly. "Actually, the whole entire script is a bunch of shite. Hell, I could have written better."

Gupta laughed and remarked, "Then why didn't you?"

"Because then I would have to deal with Gilbert's director shite even more as well as Jones' complaints about how everything goes against Hollywood," Arthur griped.

The brunette laughed, nodding her head in agreement with her two colleagues, but answered amiably all the same, "Everyone would get what they wanted though... Well, everyone but you, Arthur."

"Oh, what does it matter?" he returned sardonically with a half-smile, half-smirk on his lips. "I'm just one bloke." He sighed. "At least Lars isn't a part of the 'tournament.' That's one less person about whom to worry."

"I heard he's helping with his sister, so he's too busy to do anything else," Gupta explained politely.

"He's such a great big brother," Elizaveta mused.

"Awfully overprotective though," Arthur pointed out. "The sister is in 2-A, right?"

"I believe so, yes," Gupta answered.

"Hey! You're pretty chatty back there, costume department!" Gilbert bellowed from the front of the classroom. "How's productivity going?!"

"Sod off!" Arthur snapped just as playfully, smirk dancing on his lips as he watched Gilbert stick out his tongue and cackle manically. Momentarily, he wondered just how Lovino's event was coming along. The younger boy had informed him yesterday about their plans to pull off an international cafe, but since Gilbert and Alfred had forced Arthur to swear an oath of the utmost secrecy about their event, Arthur couldn't tell Lovino a single word about what the special class was trying to do other than the fact that they were going to be in the auditorium for a single performance in the evening. Lovino had only snorted and remarked that it better be something good because he was planning to watch whatever it was.

"Rehearsals after school! Remember that!" Gilbert announced loudly. "This is our last year, so let's make it count!" After that, he roped Kiku into their discussion about technology.

One floor below S-Class, Lovino was scowling. Honestly, that wasn't anything new. Everyone knew that. However, nobody had expected him to be so clumsy for someone who was always complaining about how everyone is a fuck up. (But, really, they should have expected it after the sports festival when Lovino slipped and fell on his ass on top of the Lion in the middle of a football match.) So far, he was taken off duty for constructing the kitchen area by the stupid potato eater, and because of his lacking in knowledge of art, Lovino wasn't allowed to design their café either. No, that title belonged solely to Feliciano. All Lovino had to do was think about what he wanted to cook on portable stoves or bake in portable ovens that everyone who had one was bringing from home. The Italian boy snorted. Only one of them out of the whole entire fucking class even had a stupid portable oven that wasn't one of the stupid toy ovens with the light bulbs.

"Since we'll be changing shifts," Lien spoke up calmly, "we'll have to change the menu every time."

"We should do a special of the day board then," Ludwig suggested, "though it would be more accurate to write 'Currently Serving' instead of 'Today's Special.'"

Lien nodded in agreement and waved around a sheet of paper. "Everyone come sign up for their shift! Once completing your shift, you can walk around and do whatever you want at the festival, but be ready to come back in case of emergencies!"

"Ve, _Fratello_! Let's work together on the same shift!"

"Cheh, yeah, whatever."

The sooner he got this over with, the better.

"Just... make sure you leave the evening vacant, _idiota_."

* * *

"How are preparations going along, bastard? There's only three days left now."

"Eh."

Lovino rolled his eyes before glancing around him. Stupid oath. Stupid albino bastard. Stupid hamburger bastard. Stupid Arthur. Cheh, whatever. He didn't want to think about the stupid festival anyway since he was practically exiled from helping constructing or designing anything other than the damn menu. "It's pretty barren in here," the Italian commented offhandedly, changing the subject rather blatantly, as he flipped through one of the books Arthur had pulled from the shelves. He then added, "Well, not like that's any different from the other days this past week."

Ever since the beginning of December, the two of them had sought refuge in the library, away from the chilly weather creeping over the island, and neither had complained since there was hardly anyone in the library during lunch. In fact, Arthur seemed content to immerse himself in the pages of innumerable books of various genres and diverse lengths.

Right now, the blond had about four of them stacked in front of him, excluding the one that Lovino had nicked from him but including the one that he was currently reading. The Italian boy eyed the black and white sketches within the thin novel with mild intrigue, almost completely ignoring the words. There was one of a rabbit wearing the top half of a suit, another of a freakishly grinning cat, and another of some weird bird and lizard and other nonsensical pictures. Lovino flipped to the front to catch the title. _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_. That made him recall dinner the other night. Arthur's mother had been expecting a girl. The thought made Lovino smile. What would Arthur look like as a girl?

Hmmm, maybe long blond hair pulled into twin tails like an innocent schoolgirl but with a defiant personality. He could see some wire glasses to suit the intelligent side of his - or, well, female Arthur's - personality as well. Ah, wait, what about the eyebrows? Well, since she was a girl, he would presume that she would pluck or wax or maintain them somehow. Female Arthur - Alice, he guessed, sounding out the name in an Italian accent and absently smiled - would also have a somewhat tall, pretty slender figure since Arthur didn't really eat a lot (but when he did, Lovino wondered where all the food had gone) without a large bust - not a flat chest though, no - just... just supple, maybe - and long, gorgeous legs. Yes, Arthur had long, fucking sexy legs. He also had fucking beautiful eyes, too. Right now, they looked like green glass, probably because of the frames he had on, reflecting the words on the page, and it was absolutely sexy, gorgeous, and beautiful. Arthur looked pretty damn hot. And intellectual. Ugh, Lovino kind of wanted a kiss right about now.

"What the bloody hell are you grinning about, git?" Arthur remarked playfully, nudging Lovino with his boot covered foot. "You've a nasty look in your eyes, and your cheeks are all red, bleedin' pervert."

Lovino flushed in embarrassment. "S-S-Shut up, bastard!"

Arthur chuckled and closed his novel with a soft thump. The blond leaned forward, crossing his arms and resting them against the table, until their foreheads were touching. "You're hot," the older remarked idly with a dangerous, mischievous smirk on his lips that widened when the red coat on Lovino's cheeks darkened, "really hot. _Burning_." When Lovino was effectively silenced, Arthur stole a gentle kiss and whispered softly, "I love it."

* * *

"Arthur, _mon chéri_, I heard you were having a winter festival soon."

"Yer not plannin' ter show, 're yew?"

She giggled. "_Nous allons voir_."

Arthur sighed. It's not like he could stop her from attending a public event. If she wanted to come, let her. After all, she wouldn't do anything stupid; she was a smart and beautiful woman. How else could she manage an entire business that she had inherited from her father? Although deceitful from time to time, she was also one who kept her word. If Arthur had a lover, and he was pretty sure that he did, then she wouldn't sabotage anything. If the roles were reversed on the other hand...

Arthur didn't want to think about it.

* * *

"Bloody 'ell! It's so damn crowded 'ere!" Arthur exclaimed indignantly as he shuffled through the school building with his arms full of costumes covered by black plastic cleaning bags. Behind him, Elizaveta and Gupta were in the same state.

The three of them marched to the auditorium, where Kiku was preparing the projector screen at an angle and elevation where it wouldn't interfere with the action on stage. At the same time, Vash was testing the spotlights, and Neeraja was testing the sound system. Gilbert, Alfred, Antonio, and Mathias were setting up the ring on the stage with the albino consistently checking if the three red ropes were aligned perfectly. (Good God, and everyone thought Ludwig was the OCD type!) Alfred and Antonio were still dressed in their team uniforms, baseball and football respectively, since they had just participated in those events. Gupta and Heracles were preparing the special effects, hiding the fans and the generators behind the curtains expertly. In the meanwhile, Ivan was standing off the side, reviewing his lines and cues with Yao, while Francis was, supposedly, supervising the proceedings. At this, Arthur narrowed his eyes in pure and utter loathing, snapping, "We 'ave the bleedin' costumes!"

"You're quite angry, _Rosbif_."

"Well, no shit, Frog! _You_ try wrestling through a crowd to get two sets of ten costumes here! You could have helped since you're doing _absolutely nothing_!" Arthur threw the ten costumes he was holding to the Frenchman while Elizaveta and Gupta each took their five costumes backstage. It's barely been ten minutes, and there's already some backstage drama. Lovely.

"Ah, _pauvre garçon_," Francis cooed sarcastically, following after the two other members of the so-called costume department, "_as-tu besoin d'un câlin? Si tu veux, je peux t'embrasser._"

"Bugger off," Arthur hissed, shoving the Frenchman away when he approached them, "bloody Frog."

"Oh, _Rosbif_, you wound me so!"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Gilbert snapped, stomping his feet impatiently, before he snapped his fingers at his arguing friends. "Save it for later, alright? You'll have time to vent your unresolved sexual tensions then!"

"_Casse-toi_!" Francis snarled at the same time as Arthur growled, "Fuck off!" The two of them glared at each other for being so synchronized before marching off to their respective stations.

Meanwhile, everyone in class 2-A was wearing the same uniform: a white button shirt with black trousers - though most of the girls were wearing skirts - and black shoes of sorts. Lovino was busy preparing cappuccinos and lattes for their guests while the Bonnefoy girls were baking delicious French pastries - beignets and éclairs mostly - and Feliciano, Ludwig, and a number of other students were serving the meals. While his brother was doing a swell job flirting with the girls, Ludwig did nothing more than intimidate the guests. After a few more guests suffered, their classmates threw a coup d'état and designated him to bouncer duty - although that wasn't really necessary. Lovino smirked in amusement at the potato head's misfortune. Yeah, karma was a bitch.

"Ve, _Fratello_, switch with me!" Feliciano chirped. Everyone was supposed to have a turn waiting and preparing meals - unless they were completely inept at one or the other - while on shift. Lovino had no choice but to relinquish his station begrudgingly. His brother's coffee was not as good as his, but maybe the customers wouldn't even care. It's not like this was a legitimate restaurant, and it wasn't like they were gourmets... Mostly, their customers consisted of parents and random students.

Catching the apron Feliciano tossed at him, Lovino tied it around his waist before swiping the notepad and pen off the counter. Plastering a charming smile onto his lips, he greeted a young woman with golden brown hair pulled into a casual French twist, "_Buongiorno, signorina_, how may I help you?" He glanced at her attire, noticing that it was completely designer. She had a Louis Vuitton handbag at her side, and all of her jewelery - earrings, rings, and bracelets - were from Dior. She also sported a pair of pumps from Coco Chanel along with - Lovino breathed in and out, just to make sure - the iconic perfume, Chanel No. 5 - yes, he was right. She was definitely not a regular patroness. It took a fashion guru to know a fashion guru.

The young woman pulled her eyes away from the menu then, and that was when Lovino recognized her, just faintly. Those blue-violet eyes were the same ones at Arthur's apartment on that one summer day when - Lovino froze in his Italian leather boots - they were out in Chinatown. This was the woman with the love bite... The one who smelt of sex. The one who spoke French.

"Oh, you're Arthur's friend," she mused aloud, a perfectly manicured - French tip, Lovino noted - finger pressed against her lips. She quieted her voice, whispering to the Italian, "He doesn't know I'm here, so don't tell him, _d'accord_? I'm going to surprise him!" She stretched out her hand, and Lovino took it. Out of habit, he pressed a polite, courteous kiss against her fingers. She giggled. "Oh, how charming! Arthur rarely does that! He has an image that girls are frail and delicate! My name is Marianne Bourgeois, and you are...?"

Lovino tried to keep his voice together, tried keeping his nerve, tried keeping calm, and answered, "Lovino... Lovino Vargas."

"_Enchantée_, Lovino," she chirped, handing him back the menu with an equally charming smile. "I'll have an éclair. It smells divine." Before he could leave, however, she made sure to ask, "Do you know where his event is, by any chance, or when it is? Preferably both."

Lovino gulped. "H-He'll be in the auditorium in the evening... Six o'clock."

"_Merci beaucoup,_ Lovino! You're such a sweetheart!"

Lovino only nodded respectfully, heart pounding nervously with trepidation, as he turned away from her. What was her relation to Arthur? What was she doing here?

* * *

"Whoa, there's a lotta people here!" Alfred cried as he peeked out of the curtains. Arthur rolled his eyes before the two of them were dragged away by a white storm further backstage with wild protests that couldn't be heard over the chattering crowd past the curtains.

"Alright, you _Arschlöcher_!" Gilbert exclaimed as he gathered the entire cast and crew into a group huddle no matter the fact that a good few of them greatly disliked contact. The ring strung around from Gilbert to Francis to Arthur to Kiku to Heracles to Gupta to Neeraja to Vash to Yao to Ivan to Alfred to Elizaveta to Mathias to Antonio back to Gilbert. "The production of the Tournament of the Rampant Lion will officially start in ten minutes! This is our last Winter Festival, so let's make it count one last time! All together on three, two, one - !"

Everyone roared in all of their excitement, save for Vash and Neeraja. The two of them raced back to the technical booth above the audience while Heracles assumed his position at the curtain ropes and Gupta at the fog generator. Everyone else waited for their cue. Alfred seemed to be jittery with nerves while Elizaveta fidgeted with her hair despite Gilbert's attempts to stop her. Kiku seemed blank, but by the clenching of his fingers, one could correctly assume that the Japanese boy was as nervous as the others. At the same time, Mathias was obviously running through the stage motions in his head. Francis kept glancing at the mirror, making sure that everything was in place, and Antonio kept shifting his weight. Yao glanced over his lines one more time while Ivan was smiling widely. Instead of his usual childish grin, however, it seemed to be somewhat bitter. Of course, Arthur mused just as bitterly, this was their last winter together. He was going to miss these gits, no matter the tough times.

"Show time," Heracles muttered softly to himself, "in three... two... _one_."

He heard the curtains pull apart and saw the fog stream across the stage.

"_Once upon a time, there lived two brothers."_

* * *

**A/N:** When Arthur says it's a shitty script, it's a shitty script, but in all my life high school performances aren't always the best. You'll see.

Anyway, this is more of a transition chapter that leads into the real action later on.

"Bourgeois" in Marianne's full name refers to the middle socioeconomic class ("bourgeoisie") of medieval France; it's a pretty stressed aspect in the French Revolution. I didn't want to give her the same name as Francis and felt that Bourgeois was rather fitting since Marianne (the national symbol) is representation of the goddess of liberty.


	25. Chapter 25 - Show Time

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Show Time**

"Ve, I wonder what they're planning to do," Feliciano chimed as he clung onto Ludwig's side like a leech. Lovino glared irately at the German before giving his younger brother a brief glance of disdain, pulling his eyes away from the two - obviously mismatched - best friends. His hazel orbs skimmed over the dimly lit auditorium, scouring the audience for a certain young woman wearing Parisian designer clothing, before falling upon the back of a familiar French twist sitting two rows in front of them in the center section of the audience. Since the auditorium had filled up pretty fast, Lovino, Feliciano, and Ludwig were stuck sitting in the far back - and they had gotten there _early_! "I heard Antonio and Alfredo are in it, too!" the younger Vargas exclaimed in excitement, jumping in his seat. "It must be a big production, ve!"

"Yes, I've heard about that. It appears that Mathias Kohler and Ivan Braginski are participating as well," Ludwig contributed nonchalantly, sitting straight as a board in his seat. "Though I doubt that it would be a _big_ production, Feliciano, I'm sure that it is moderately sized, especially in terms of cast and crew."

"Ve~" Feliciano exhaled. Maybe it was a sigh. Lovino didn't know. What did Feliciano even have to sigh about? "I guess you're right, Ludwig! If it was a big production, there would be lots more people participating in it!"

Ludwig gave a half smile and mentioned, "Knowing my brother, however, this production may be _big_ regarding... effects or something of the like. You may not be disappointed then." Clearing his throat, Ludwig recited, "'It's going to be awesome, so you guys definitely have to show up!' or so he said."

Jeez, how did this stick in the mud come from the same genetic pool as the albino bastard?

"Ve, remember to save a seat for Mateo, Jia Long, Xiao Mei, Emil, Roderich, Lukas..." and the list went on and on and on. Lovino began to tune out his brother as he rambled on and on and on. Those bastards could find their own seats or just stand in the back and watch for all he cared. Hell, they probably already found seats! The place was so crowded that it was difficult to find one another and rendezvous! The only reason he was stuck with his brother and the potato head was because they came from the same room, off the same shift.

Cheh, Lovino clicked his tongue, not wanting to admit that the bastards had done a good job promoting. The posters and flyers for their show, _The Tournament of the Rampant Lion_, were posted _everywhere _- in every building, in every corridor, in every room, in every crook and cranny! He had even spotted a few brochures in the men's restroom! There were even rumors flying around about how DVDs were to be recorded of the event and sold by order. They were really raking in the profits; Lovino wouldn't be surprised if they won the prize for the best event at the festival this year.

Slouching in the chair of his auditorium, Lovino checked the time on his phone. It was already six o'clock, and from what he was aware, it would take another ten minutes until the show would officially begin. Glancing at the stage, he saw a movement in the red curtains but dismissed that easily. Someone was probably taking a peek at the audience. There was always someone who did that in the movies.

Suddenly, the lights dimmed in the auditorium, effectively silencing the audience. When the curtains parted, there was light applause to greet the cast, but they were only witness to a glowing projector screen and a light fog drifting off the stage into the audience. On the screen, a rustic tome opened, and its pages flipped to a page depicting two blond boys as though the wind had done so purposely.

Overhead, Arthur's voice poured through the speakers, speaking, "Once upon a time, there lived two brothers." The page of the book flipped, illustrating the two boys running together, fishing together, eating dinner together, sleeping in bed together. "They played together, worked together, ate together, and spent the entire day and night together. They were one another's best friend. None in the village were closer than they." The page flipped, showing the boys walking into a dark, eerie forest. "However, like all children, the boys were curious. Dangerously so." The page flipped, and one of the boys was carried away by a gust of wind. "They wandered into the neighbouring woods haunted by a phantom spirit. The demon spirit quickly took siege of the elder brother's body and transformed him into a beast." The pages flipped and flipped and flipped, revealing picture after picture of the transformation, before finally showing the younger brother escaping. "Alfred could only run away, helpless, as his brother, possessed, terrorised the village they loved."

The lights dimmed and darkened, the curtains closed, and the sound of stage props shuffling around could be heard before, finally, the cast revealed themselves.

**Scene One**

"Liiiiiiizzzz!" Gilbert roared, his voice reverberating off the walls and shaking the foundation of the house. The albino was wearing a Prussian blue uniform with a black shirt and tie, and his trousers were tucked into a pair of boots. He shuffled around the area, peeking under a dining room table and peering out a glass window. "Have you seen my gun - or my hunting gear?!"

Walking into scene was Elizaveta, donning a dress with a black bodice, an orange skirt, and a headscarf. She placed her hands onto her hips and glared menacingly at Gilbert. "And where do you think you're going, _darling_?" She spat out the endearment bitterly, not meaning a single ounce of it, and narrowed her green eyes at her albino so-called husband.

"Calm down, woman! The boys and I are just going to hunt down the lion that's been freaking everyone out so much! No big deal!"

"'_No big deal_'?!" Elizaveta shrieked incredulously. "Leave that to the government, Gil! You're _not_ a professional!"

"I can't leave it to the _government_! What's the government going to do?! Fine us if we leave the 'safety of our homes'?! They haven't done _anything_ productive yet! We have to take this problem in our own hands, Liz! We can't trust the government! It's useless!"

"Gil, if you so much take a single step out of this house - !"

"What are you going to do, lovely wife of mine?" Gilbert retorted sarcastically. "Beat me over the head with your frying pan?"

"That's not a bad idea!" the brunette snapped indignantly, pulling out the aforementioned frying pan.

The projector flickered with life and showed close up footage of Gilbert and Elizaveta as their names flashed across the white walls of the kitchen backdrop in place of the projector screen. A deep booming announcer's voice exclaimed, "Gilbert Beilschmidt versus Elizaveta Hedervary! Begin!"

As soon as the signal was given, Elizaveta launched herself at Gilbert, who narrowly dodged her frying pan. "Oi, Lizbet!" he whispered. That frying pan was _not_ a prop. It was something Elizaveta had personally brought from her kitchen. It was not made out of wood or styrofoam and metallic paint like the other weapons. "Watch it!"

"It's revenge for having to play your wife!" the brunette hissed back through clenched teeth. She lashed out yet again with the frying pan, and Gilbert quickly grasped hold of her wrists, ducking his head for good measure, to prevent the attack with both of his hands. When he saw her heel coming to stab him in the gut, he braced himself for the impact, groaning with he felt the tip pierce his flesh, daring to lacerate his abdominal muscles.

"I'm so glad you only wear heels this one scene," he muttered through gritted teeth the moment he fell onto his back on the floor of the ring. He swept his leg underneath her, knocking Elizaveta onto her back while recovering from his own fall, and pinned her hands above her head. There were a few appreciative whistles from the audience, but their fun didn't last long when Elizaveta twisted his grip, using the momentum to turn him around, and stabbed the heel of her shoe into his back, utilising the flow of momentum to lift Gilbert above her with great - but barely noticeable to the eyes in the audience - difficulty. The whistles quickly morphed into moans of disappointment when their captive male audience saw that Elizaveta was wearing black leggings underneath her skirt. "Ow, ow, ow!" Gilbert whimpered as the heel dug into his flesh. "_Verdammt_, Liz!" he groaned aloud, not caring if it wasn't scripted because, _goddamn_, it hurt! He's definitely going to avoid dating any girl who wears heels in the near future!

"Three, two, one!" she counted down in a strained voice underneath her breath before throwing her childhood friend off her and shoving him away from her. Unfortunately, as scripted, Gilbert came hurling back at her once he rebounded off the red ropes. She squealed in surprise as Gilbert pinned her, once again, on the floor with her hands behind her back. "Gil!" she screeched just as soon as the announcer boomed, "Winner! Gilbert Beilschmidt!"

**Scene Two**

"We are meeting Gil in the forest or outside of the forest?" Francis inquired of the Spaniard as they marched into the scene. The Frenchman was wearing a flamboyant long blue coat with red trousers tucked into dark brown boots. He carried an elaborate silver rapier at his hip. His friend was wearing a less eccentric outfit - a tan uniform with a short-sleeved jacket, short brown boots, and a string bow - though he carried a more outrageous weapon, a halberd.

"He just said to meet him _at_ the forest, _amigo_," Antonio responded before musing, somewhat stiffly, "Gil sure is taking a long time."

"Hey!" a loud, thundering voice bellowed. "What are you two doing here?!" Across from them stepped a spiky haired Dane wearing a long coat, brown trousers, and military styled boots. Like the Spaniard, he carried a giant battleaxe on his back. "Nobody but the military is allowed beyond this point!"

"Gah!" Francis cried, directing the exclamation more to the audience than to his friend, in a melodramatic manner, "It's the _guardsmen_! How on _earth _do we get past _them_?!" Really, it was only one person, but who gave a damn? It made everything more dramatic (which was what Gilbert wanted, right? Francis questioned himself) though it sacrificed any kind of sense the performance barely possessed.

Someone chucked a peanut at Francis' head from backstage. It clattered to the floor after weaving through several golden strands of the young Frenchman's hair. Francis ignored it.

Without paying much heed to his friend's over dramatic one-man act, Antonio stepped forward and chirped, "We're going to hunt down the creature that claimed my lover!" He could hear Francis grimacing behind him. What? He said the line right, didn't he?

An indignant "Chigi!" could be heard from the audience.

"Antoine!" Francis snapped dramatically in a slight wail. Nobody knew if he was indignant or grieving.

"What? It's true! Listen, _señor_, we'll be back out before you know it!"

"Yeah, when the military finds you two in pieces!" Mathias snapped before wielding his axe. "I didn't want to do this, but you left me with no other choice! Turn back or I'm forced to use - err - " Damn, what was his line again? Ugh, whatever made sense would work now. It wasn't like he was the first one to mess up the entire show anyway, and Mathias was pretty damn sure that he wouldn't be the only one. " - _force_!" Yeah, that worked. I'm forced to use force... God, Mathias grimaced, I'm so stupid.

Antonio seemed baffled by the improvisation but swiftly recovered, pulling out his own battle axe, and chimed, "Then I guess we have no choice but to fight!" with a silly grin on his face. Man, being in a play was fun!

On the projector screen, along with the close up of their faces, the words, "Mathias Kohler versus Antonio Fernandez Carriedo and Francis Bonnefoy," flashed brightly before dying after the announcer commenced the match.

A few coordinated attacks later with minor blunders here and there - especially when a wild swing nearly "decapitated" the cowering young Frenchman running for refuge behind a styrofoam rock - Antonio knocked the axe out of Mathias' hand and whipped the butt of his halberd against the Dane's skull, pretending to knock out the taller blond, before Francis pulled out of his hiding place and comically whacked Mathias with a stick repeatedly while Antonio was searching for their friend.

**Scene Three**

"Kiku, where are you going?" Yao inquired as the younger boy began to march off set, only decorated with an Oriental paper folding screen, past the older boy drinking his Oolong tea. The Chinese boy was wearing casual traditional clothing, a Mandarin coat and the works, while sitting on top of a cushion at a small table. "It's dangerous out there."

The Japanese boy, on the other hand, was dressed in an outfit similar to that of the Dane - a long coat, brown trousers, and military boots. "I have a duty to fulfill, Brother," he replied monotonously. He nearly marched out of the scene until Yao called for him to wait.

"Here," spoke the Chinese boy, "take this." He pulled a long sword from underneath the coffee table and tossed it to Kiku, who caught the katana easily.

"I'll see you at dinner."

"Okay. Have fun."

To be honest, neither of them wanted too many lines or choreography that they would forget.

**Scene Four**

Alfred dramatically marched onto stage, panting heavily as though he was trying to catch his breath. "Woo!" he swiped away the non-existent beads of sweat from his forehead. Standing upright, the blond struck a heroic pose and bellowed, "That was quite a climb up the mountains! Good thing I managed to befriend the bears and other miscellaneous forest animals!" An acorn flew past the curtain, hitting Alfred's head before rebounding and clattering to the floor. Its impact was much louder than the peanut that nearly got lost in Francis' hair; nevertheless, the blond was still grinning manically despite Gilbert's hiss to _follow the damn script, Jones_. The audience laughed.

The American was wearing a plain white t-shirt with his usual brown bomber jacket, khakis, and hiking boots.

"Who is making all that noise?" Ivan inquired as he stepped onto the stage, wearing the same uniform as Kiku and Mathias but with his usual long scarf. He smiled at Alfred with with the usual eerie grin and delivered his lines with the same demeanor he typically donned. "It is you, _da_? I know it is you. Do not lie to me."

"Dude! Who are you?!"

"I am guardsman, _da_? And you are civilian. You must be going now. It is not safe for you to be here."

"But I have to get my brother!"

"We will retrieve him for you, OK? We will let you know if we find his bones."

"Not funny, man! I seriously have to handle this myself!"

Ivan pulled out his iron pipe. "It is custom for naughty children to be punished. I hope you will not mind."

The Russian promptly began chasing Alfred around the ring in front of the forest backdrop as the announcer introduced the match. The moment the deep, booming voice called for the match to start, Alfred backed onto the three ropes, stretching it as far as possible, before catapulting himself towards Ivan. "Geronimo!" the American exclaimed as he hurled at the Russian. Ivan cleverly braced himself with the wooden replica of his iron pipe. Unfortunately, the prop snapped into half, much to the surprise of the audience, and Ivan chucked the prop away, relying on his use of improvisation. When Alfred raised an eyebrow in silent speculation, Ivan shrugged to show that it was nothing about which to worry and to continue as planned.

The two of them locked hands where Alfred was supposed to have tried to pry away the so-called iron pipe, pushing each other back and forth in a test of strength, before Ivan shoved Alfred away. The first year swung his left fist towards Ivan's face, and the Russian quickly blocked the attack. Alfred sent his right fist flying, but Ivan caught that as well. With a shrill battle-cry, Alfred slammed his forehead onto Ivan's, momentarily giving the older student an apologetic look as they both winced, and sent the Russian stumbling backwards.

"Let me pass, dude!"

"I cannot do that, comrade."

"Let me see my brother!" Alfred charged head first at the Russian, who was promptly pinned on the floor. The screen flashed Alfred's name as the winner, but the dialogue continued. "I have to see my brother! I've got to save him! I don't care who gets in my way, but I _have _to do this!" The shouts became more hectic, violent, different from his earlier exclamations. More urgent.

"Braginski-san, is something the matter?"

"Comrade," Ivan told Alfred gravely, "now _my_ comrade has arrived."

**Scene Five**

"Man, that woman is such a _nightmare_!" Gilbert whined as he slumped on top of a styrofoam rock. He ignored the slight squeak it made underneath his ass and hoped that the audience wouldn't think of it as gas. There were a few snickers and chuckles and giggles, but whatever. It wasn't a big deal and could have been worse. "I'm trying to make this village safer for our entire family, and she won't let me go! How crazy is that?!"

"Well, _mon ami_," Francis responded as he crossed his arms at center stage, "you cannot have a family without a father. I can see where her concern lies - " upon seeing Gilbert's indignant glare and upon hearing Gilbert's indignant growl, he added hastily, " - but I also understand where you are coming from!" The young Frenchman laughed nervously.

Antonio stood up from where he was squatting as though he was studying something, but his face was the same cheery expression all throughout the scene - well, more like the entire play - thus far. "The tracks lead this way," he chirped merrily. "Come on! _Vamonos, mis amigos_!"

Gilbert awkwardly began his next line reluctantly and dubiously, "Toni, I know you're upset about the love of your life, but... Calm down...?" _Mein Gott_, the albino thought to himself in a slight panic, even after two weeks of practice Toni doesn't know how to act at all - or how to get angry! Gilbert glanced at Francis for help, but the young Frenchman himself was already trying to think of a way to provoke Antonio to match his behavior with his words.

"I am calm, Gil."

Well, no shit. Gilbert wanted to collar the Spaniard and slap him around silly right about now. That line was supposed to sound defensive and affronted, not actually _calm_.

"Oh, Antonio!" Francis exclaimed dramatically at that moment. Gilbert rolled his eyes. His friend sounded a little _too _dramatic. It was exaggerated and overdone but a hell lot better than what Antonio was doing! "You brave heart! Although the love of your life was _devoured_ and _ravished_ by that despicable lion, you stand here today to right the wrongs! How brave indeed!"

Antonio's eyebrow twitched in faint irritation.

Francis nudged Gilbert, who nudged him back with a grunt. He already got the message and was happy to play along. "Oh, yeah, the love of your life was completely _eaten up_ by the lion! He feasted on that delicious neck! Did you see how marked up the body was?!"

Antonio roared something in Spanish, reaching for Gilbert's neck to wrangle the albino and strangle him half to death. At the same time, the screen projected the next match, "Antonio Fernandez Carriedo versus Gilbert Beilschmidt and Francis Bonnefoy," while the German took it upon himself to continue the now one-sided dialogue. Nobody was listening to him anymore, too transfixed by the murderous expression plastered on Antonio's face, but he didn't seem to notice until his friend collared his uniform shirt.

"Calm down, Toni! We'll get back at the stupid lion for you!" Gilbert exclaimed as he tried to pry Antonio's fingers off the fabric of his shirt. This was not part of the script. Once he was successful, the albino pushed Antonio away and stepped back a few paces.

An indignant shout was his response, and that was enough to let Gilbert know that this was not just staged anymore. Antonio was fucking serious now. Carefully side-stepping his friend's vengeful wrath, the albino swiftly ended the match by snatching the Spaniard's wrist and pinning him to the ground, sitting on top of him with his entire body weight to prevent him from moving. A drawn out match was not good in this state.

"You can't do anything in this state, Antoine!" Francis exclaimed while dragging the seething Spaniard from under Gilbert and pulling him backstage. "I'll take him back to the village, Gil! You handle things from here!"

Well, at least the story could continue as planned.

**Scene Six**

Both Alfred and Kiku were panting heavily, genuinely exhausted. The two of them were told to fill out the time Gilbert and Antonio had shortened, but neither of them were decent at improvising. As a result, their scripted battle had actually turned into an actual one-on-one fight after a few awkward minutes of building momentum. Now this match seemed to have lasted longer than expected - _especially _when they heard the audience cheer after that intense scene with Gilbert and Antonio. Kiku tightened his grip on his bamboo sword after it had slackened in a desperate attempt to relax his body, but the Japanese boy willed himself to go on for the show. Alfred gave him a curt nod, telling the smaller boy that this would be his last attack. They had to make it count now; there was just too much improvisation in this show!

With one last burst of energy, Alfred karate chopped the sword out of Kiku's hands without caring for the impracticality of such an action while screeching some sort of wail he had picked up from watching kung-fu movies. Then, pulling a bad cop, the American slammed Kiku against a painted tree, ignoring how it simply fell over and collapsed, opting instead to pin the Japanese student on the stage floor, and tried to recall his line. What was it again? Oh yeah!

"Just let me see my brother!"

"I understand!" Kiku cried out - mostly in pain. Alfred-san has a powerful grip, he mused grimly. As soon as Kiku spoke his line, Alfred released him. The Japanese boy rubbed his wrists and gave a nod to Alfred's sheepish expression, acknowledging his silent apology, and added, "Good luck."

As soon as Alfred ran offstage, Ivan, who was seated on the styrofoam rock they had forgotten to move from the last scene, gave a smile and chimed, "We are going to be following him, _da_?"

"Yes, that is correct. We have to make sure that all the civilians are safe. Allow me to call Kohler-san."

"Of course, comrade."

**Scene Seven**

"Who are you?!" Alfred and Gilbert chorused, each pointing an accusing finger at each other the moment they entered from opposite ends of the stage. Alfred frowned and asked, "You're not one of those military dudes trying to stop me, right?"

Gilbert snorted. "Please, am I wearing one of those lame uniforms? I'm guessing that means you're not one of those goons either," the albino remarked dryly. "What are you up here for?"

"I'm - uh - trying to save my brother."

"Cool. Hope he's not dead, but I'm not letting you get any further, kid."

Alfred narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"Like you could take on _a_ lion - never mind _the_ awesome lion!"

"Wanna bet?!"

So the final match between the competitors began. Alfred and Gilbert danced around the ring, throwing punches and jabs like a classic boxing match. The albino then tried to haul Alfred over his shoulder, and as scripted, Alfred fell over, smashing onto the floor. "You okay, Al?" Gilbert whispered.

Alfred moaned in pain before continuing with the scripted actions. He pulled Gilbert by the ankle and straddled him, punching him over and over again, and spat, "Can I take on a lion now?!"

"Yeah, go ahead, man! Get outta here!" Alfred ran off-stage, and Gilbert propped himself back up. He smirked and added, "But I'll be taking the spotlight, of course!" The albino cackled and chased after Alfred.

**Scene Eight**

"Artie! Artie! Arrrrrrrrrtieee!" Alfred cried, shouting at the top of his lungs, as he animatedly searched for his missing brother. The backdrop had changed entirely from a forest background to a cavernous backdrop. The lights had dimmed significantly, and the only illumination was from the faint blue lights on the lowest setting. The projector screen was set to the side, and Alfred took care not to bump into it. There was thunder rumbling, and the white lights flickered momentarily to achieve a sense of foreboding. "Hey, Arthur, you there?" the young blond inquired in an almost trembling voice. "This is kinda freaking me out..."

The blue lights shut down before turning on and focusing on a throne made of stone - styrofoam stone, of course. There, sitting on top of the throne, was a figure donning a dark velvet cloak with a hood lined with fur that was dusted with shades of dark and golden brown. He wore a military green uniform with a light green button shirt and deep green tie underneath the jacket, a Sam Browne belt over the jacket, and a pair of trousers tucked into a pair of dark leather military boots. He rested his chin in the palm of his hand, both of which were covered with black leather gloves, his elbow resting against the arm of the throne, and smirked diabolically. His face was hidden behind the shadow of his hood, but there was a flash of green light in the darkness. Dangerous green light.

"H-H-Hey... Have you... Have you seen m-my brother?"

Alfred was seriously nervous. This was just super freaky.

The cloaked figure didn't answer.

"Kid!" Gilbert exclaimed, marching onto the scene. "Get away! Don't you know what you're dealing with?! That's the lion, the Rampant Lion!"

"You! What are you doing here?!" Alfred exclaimed, backing away from the cloaked figure on the throne.

"Saving your sorry as - " no, he couldn't say "ass" while onstage, Gilbert reminded himself " - _as heck _- butt!" Yeah, gotta keep this family-friendly as possible. Gilbert stepped in front of Alfred and pushed him aside. "Stay back, kid! This is dangerous!"

The Lion descended down his throne, approaching the two boy with heavy footsteps echoing throughout the entire auditorium. His smirk lingered on his lips, and both Gilbert and Alfred had unknowingly and unwittingly taken a step back. Regaining his composure, Gilbert swung his fist towards the Lion, but it was easily blocked and just as easily countered. The Lion brought up his knee, jamming it into Gilbert's gut, and the albino choked. _Damn_, that hurt. He had a new respect for stunt actors and coordinators.

"Take this!" a female voice cried, leaping over the ropes and charging at the Lion. She swung her frying pan at him, but the Lion easily dodged it by backing away. He snatched her wrist, disarmed her, and tossed her towards Gilbert. The albino easily caught the newcomer, who yanked off her cloak. Elizaveta was now donning a uniform like most of the male cast, only hers was teal in color to match - somewhat - with Gilbert's. She wore a military jacket with a matching hat and pair of breeches tucked into brown boots that extended past her knees up to her thighs as well as dark gloves. Her hair was now pulled into a high ponytail. She glowered at the Lion, furling her fingers into angry little fists.

"Liz, what are you doing here?!"

"Like I could let you handle this by yourself!"

"Is everyone okay?!"

Three more cloaked figures appeared. The shortest one donned a crimson cloak with an Oriental design, the middle one donned a cloak with snowflakes, and the tallest one donned a cloak with Nordic symbols. They each unveiled themselves by pulling down their hoods, not wanting to show the audience their matching outfits altogether. Kiku glanced at the Lion while Ivan and Mathias readied themselves for battle. Ivan and Mathias each took a swing with their respective weapons, but the Lion successfully evaded the attacks. Kiku leapt through the opening his comrades formed, but the Lion was able to block the strike to his head with both his hands and clasped the thin blade that was made out of wood and metallic paint like the other props. The three officers retreated.

"What now?" Mathias inquired.

"All together now!" Gilbert crowed.

Everyone but Alfred leapt into the attack, swinging wildly, punching aimlessly, and kicking relentlessly at the Lion. Nevertheless, the cloaked figure kept dodging and evading their attacks expertly. A sudden roar kept them all off guard, however, and in charged Antonio like a raging bull. "_Bastardo satánica_!" he screeched, swinging a powerful punch at the Lion. He barely managed to block the attack in time. "How dare you deflower Lovi! You defiled my my precious Lovi! _Usted monstruo! Demonio! Abominación!_"

In the audience, a certain Italian shrank in his seat until he crouched on the floor, embarrassed. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He was the only "Lovi" in the entire damn school! Stupid tomato bastard!

In a desperate endeavor to regain control of the situation, the Lion gave a single mighty kick to Antonio's gut, sending him flying out of the ring. Francis appeared, bowed sheepishly with an awkward grin, and dragged his wailing Spanish friend off the stage. There was a momentary silence as someone attempted to devise another improvisation to get the show back on track. When Gilbert punched the Lion in the shoulder and the Lion returned the impact with equal force, a brawl between the two of them commenced that quickly transformed into a free-for-all. Everyone quickly leapt onto the Lion, but Alfred was swift to wail, "Back off, dudes!" He picked off the assailants one by one, throwing them aside, and snapped, "Lay off my brother! It's not cool, man!" Grasping the Lion by the shoulders, he began to shake him back and forth wildly. "Artie! Snap out of it, man! I know that you're still in there somewhere! That demon didn't possess you entirely, right?! Come on! Answer me!"

The hood fell off, revealing a mess of blond hair spiked to resemble a lion's mane. Arthur stared at Alfred with blank green eyes, transparent as glass.

"Fine, I guess we have to do this the hard way!"

Alfred pulled back his fist to strike the smaller blond, but Arthur instinctively caught the attack and grinned deviously.

"Your brother is no longer with us," Arthur responded dully.

"You lie!"

"Then prove me wrong."

Alfred lashed out again and again, but again and again he was unable to land a hit on Arthur. Everyone parted to give the brothers space to fight, though it was a much one sided battle, before finally Alfred managed to slam Arthur against the floor in the blind of an eye in a burst of desperation, mustering all of his energy and courage to throw his mentor to the floor. Arthur grunted in pain, hissing, especially when Alfred - as scripted - grasped hold of his hair.

"Tell me you recognize these people!" Alfred cried, raising Arthur's head to face the audience. "Who do you see?!"

Green eyes scoped the audience. Lovino peeked over the edge of the seat in front of him. His heart skipped a beat as their eyes connected amongst the hundreds that were present. Arthur gave a subtle half-smile. "What a cliché ending," he stated shortly, "_Alfred_."

The curtains closed. The floor lights illuminated the audience, and everyone cheered. When it was time for curtain call, everyone filed out one by one in their military uniforms and cloaks. The applause was the loudest for Arthur, Gilbert, and, of course, Alfred in his superhero cape.

* * *

A mousy girl knocked shyly on the door to the special advanced classroom. Elizaveta, still dressed in the teal military uniform, smiled at her and asked what she needed. "Uhm," the girl began stammering before regaining some confidence, squeaking out, "A-A-Arthur K-Kirkland has a guest r-r-requesting to s-see him behind the g-gymnasium!"

* * *

"Ve, _Fratello_, come _on_! You're so slow! We have to congratulate them on a job well done!" Feliciano sang as he pulled along his older brother while trying to meet with his best friend walking in front of them. Ludwig had purposely slowed his pace to allow the Vargas twins to catch up with him. The others had already made it backstage and were happily celebrating. Even though Feliciano didn't like Arthur all that much, he could overlook his contempt for the others he _did _like. Of course, he planned to keep a close eye on his twin while Arthur was still around!

Shuffling into the advanced classroom, Lovino peered about for any signs of a blond soldier. Other than an obnoxious Frenchman, he had no luck. The aforementioned Frenchman bounced up to greet the adorable Italian twins before being shoved away by Lovino himself. Ludwig and Feliciano quickly rendezvoused with Kiku, Alfred, and Matthew, graciously accepting a can of soda from Elizaveta before she returned to Gilbert and Roderich. Vladimir quickly joined into the conversation, and Gilbert slipped away to bully Lovino around a little. Unfortunately, Antonio and Francis had already beat him.

"Hey, Lovi! Did you watch the show?" Antonio asked cheerily as though he hadn't blown up on stage in front of a good hundred people.

"Chigi!" Lovino shrieked, recalling that particularly embarrassing scene. "What the hell do you think you're saying in front of an audience, you fucking tomato bastard?!"

"So it's not true! I true my Lovi was pure at - "

"Shut up, dumb as fuck tomato bastard!"

Gilbert snickered. "We had to do something to get him to act better somehow, Vargas," the albino teased, ruffling the Spaniard's hair playfully. Antonio laughed and batted Gilbert's hand away. "Want a soda? We have orange or lime or... you know, whatever. School doesn't allow alcoholic drinks on campus."

Lovino snorted. "Like I want to be around you bastards when you're drunk," the younger student seethed vehemently.

"Arthur's worse than I ever am drunk though..." Gilbert commented. Antonio laughed at this. "I think."

"Hah!" Francis scoffed. "Nobody is as bad as that _Rosbif_!"

Biting his tongue to keep from exploding about how it was unfair that they knew Arthur longer - maybe even better - than him, Lovino hissed, "Where is he anyway, the lion bastard?"

Francis and Gilbert exchanged mischievous glances. "A little darling came into this room, actually, looking for him," Francis whispered lowly so that only Lovino could hear. The Italian could feel his heart drop to his stomach. "It might be a love confession, you know! The rough type is quite popular!"

Lovino gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, trying not to ram them into the side of Francis' face.

"Behind the gymnasium, Vargas," Gilbert mentioned.

Lovino gave Gilbert a weary glance before dashing out of the classroom. Antonio sighed.

"Ve, where's _Fratello_?"


	26. Chapter 26 - The Lioness

**Chapter Twenty-Six: The Lioness**

"You really showed up," Arthur mumbled as he dragged a glove covered hand down his face. His green eyes lingered on the pavement, refusing to meet with her curious gaze. "What about work?" he muttered under his breath. "Is it really all right to leave it to come here? Christmas is the busiest time of the year, isn't it?"

She laughed like the jingling of bells. "Stop making excuses, _mon cher_," the Frenchwoman retorted playfully, poking Arthur in the ribs lightly. "You've gained some weight. Have you been eating regularly? That's good."

"Mm, yes, he cooks, you know," Arthur responded with a faint smile on his lips. "He's a bloody amazing cook."

"As good as me?"

"I would say even better."

"_Je ne te crois pas_!"

Arthur raised his eyes, staring at her with challenge in his emeralds, and remarked, "Would I ever lie to you?"

She sighed and crossed her arms. "Well, my profession is not fine cuisine, so maybe," she conceded reluctantly, "there _could_ be someone better than _me_. I doubt it though. It's not hard to please your palate, _mon amour_. You do not have high standards, considering you can eat _Marmite_." At this, she visibly shuddered in disgust and repulsion.

"Oh, sod off, Marianne."

The blonde smiled and giggled, resting her head on his shoulder and fiddling with his hands comfortably. Marianne pulled off a glove, admiring how Arthur's hands were so much bigger than hers, before lacing their fingers together. She shivered slightly at the cool sensation traveling up her arms. Was she to expect more from her fellow kindred spirit? He was just as cold as she was. Just as twisted. Just as messed up. With this in mind, she asked Arthur, "Have you asked him on dates yet?"

"No."

"Have you asked him to be your lover yet?"

"No."

"Have you proposed to him?"

"Marianne, please, he's only sixteen! I've only known him for a few months now!"

"We knew each other for - what? - ten, nine months, and you were only fifteen when - "

"_Marianne_!"

The French woman pouted childishly. "Well," she responded shortly, "you'll never get far if you keep this up, Arthur. You cannot have this ambiguous relationship! It's not healthy!"

Arthur scoffed lightly. "Who are you to preach this to me?"

Marianne smiled wryly. "I understand you best. You understand me best," she responded sagely. Humming, she threw her hands into the air and exclaimed, "We might as well get married and leave all troubles behind! We are alike, you and I, Arthur. Finish your proposal from Halloween night and seal the deal, _non_?"

"_Non_," Arthur replied tersely with a bitter smile, "I'm sorry, but I can't do that."

She laughed. "Just as well! I respect your decision," the older woman mused, returning the glove back onto his hand. "You will face life as it is, I see."

"You can't avoid trouble forever, Marianne."

"Ah, but my suitors are all - " she waved a hand dismissively, grasping for a perfect word " - _dull_. They are not like you. I really do love you, Arthur."

"I know you do, Marianne."

"I will always love you with all my heart, Arthur."

"I know you will, Marianne."

"I love you, Arthur."

"I know, Marianne."

"Kiss me, Arthur."

"I won't, Marianne."

She laughed bitterly. "I lost to a little boy," she muttered to herself, kicking the pavement miserably with her Coco Chanel heels, stopping when she noticed the tip was getting worn. "Am I to be alone in the world, Arthur?"

"No, Marianne," Arthur answered honestly, giving her a gentle smile, "of course not. The world couldn't possibly be that cruel to a beautiful woman like you. You're intelligent - absolutely bloody brilliant - and you're creative... I mean, you _have _to be creative and assertive to be able to command an entire fashion line by yourself when you're not even _twenty-one_ - not yet, at any rate! You're amazing, Marianne. I'm glad to have known you; no, I'm glad to know you."

She huffed crossly. "You are not abandoning me, Arthur."

"I don't plan to _abandon_ you, Marianne." He grinned mirthfully. "Lions are social creatures, you know, _Mademoiselle Lionne Rampante de France_. You're always starting a fight, you know?"

"You remember my title!" Marianne laughed.

"How couldn't I? They gave me the same one!" Arthur remarked. "I can't believe the seniors gave a little first year punk the title of a spoiled, argumentative French princess."

"Honestly, the nerve of some people! After all, you look nothing like me!"

The two of them shared a laugh, and then they dissolved into an amiable silence before Marianne cupped his face and pressed a kiss to his lips. He didn't return it. She smiled. Of course, if she was in his shoes, she would have done the same as well. "Our last kiss," she whispered to him.

There was the sound of someone falling. Arthur shot to his feet. "Who's there?!" he called out indignantly. Marianne followed suit, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. His green eyes focused onto a slender figure as he escaped the scene, and - more importantly - the odd curl that protruded from rich brown tresses. "Bollocks."

Moments earlier, Lovino had been racing to the gymnasium, thoughts running amok in his head. He trusted Arthur to decline any invitations or to reject any confessions someone might give him. After all, the blond had never been interested in anyone at their school. He had only ever shown interest in - at this, the Italian blushed - Lovino himself. If there was ever anything or anyone that he didn't trust, however, it would be that fashionista of a French woman. She was a suspicious figure _especially_ in regards to Arthur. Their relationship was hazy, fuzzy, unclear, and Lovino hated it.

Lovino had stopped behind the gymnasium and found the French woman from earlier. He had pursed his lips together, watching as they bantered playfully perfectly at ease, wondering if he was interrupting on something. It felt like he was intruding, like he was witness to something he wasn't supposed to see... Like he had opened Pandora's box. His heart had sunk to his stomach when he saw her drop her head onto Arthur's shoulder, and he had realized then that, maybe, they belonged together. They were both angel haired, ethereal beauties from another world with fairy-like laughter. That woman could probably keep up with Arthur - unlike Lovino, who was always stumbling over his feet and awkward. They were beyond his grasp. Arthur was beyond his grasp.

And then she had kissed him.

Lovino had tripped over his feet, taken aback by the action, and nearly cried out in alarm. He had managed to slap a hand over his lips to prevent any sound from escaping his lips. However, the sound of his fall was enough to alert the couple about his presence. Lovino wasn't going to stay around to face the music though. He didn't want to hear anything from Arthur. He didn't want to hear any excuses. They... They weren't lovers, him and Arthur. They never were! They never had anything to begin with! Tears pricked at Lovino's eyes as he scrambled to his feet. It was all in his head! Was it all one-sided on his part? Unrequited? Then why had Arthur told him he had no girlfriend? Why had he returned all of his kisses? Why had he promised to wait for him? Why? Why? _Why_?

H-How long had this been going on, dammit? How long had Arthur kept her a secret? What other secrets did he have? Even though Lovino believed that Arthur would never lie, he never talked either! He never said anything about his past! How could he trust him again? Again? Lovino questioned himself. _Would _he even trust Arthur _again_?

"L-Lovi?" Antonio inquired as he spotted the Italian rushing towards the front entrance. The Spaniard grasped hold of the younger boy, holding him in place. "Lovi? Are you crying?" Antonio had never seen Lovino cry other than that time at Francis' Halloween party - when Arthur had almost drowned and died. "Hey, what's wrong, Lovi?" The Italian could make out the worried expressions of the albino and perverted bastards behind the Spaniard. "We were all going to gather for the fireworks and the bonfire. You want to come with us?"

There he goes again, trying to erase the pain, pretending that it never existed. Lovino didn't want that though, so he swallowed his tears and pushed Antonio away. He didn't want that. He didn't want Antonio. He wanted A - The Italian choked on the name. He couldn't even think about him without hurting. Why did it hurt so badly? It was stupid, ridiculous! It shouldn't hurt so badly!

Pivoting on his heel, he turned away from the Bad Friends Trio - because that's what they were, dammit! They were nothing but a bunch of shit friends! - and elbowed his way through the crowd. He didn't give a damn if he looked rude or whatever. He just needed to get out of here!

"_Fratello_! Ve, _Fratello, stai bene_?!" Feliciano inquired as he sprinted to his older brother's side, abandoning the bonfire with Ludwig and Kiku. His two friends gave him concerned looks but didn't dare approach the brothers, knowing that they might be of little help. "What happened?"

"Nothing, let's just get out of here," Lovino replied shortly. He brushed past his younger brother, but Feliciano held tightly onto his hand. Glancing into the solid coppery eyes, Lovino knew that his brother wanted to talk, but this wasn't the place. He needed leave. He needed to get out of here.

"_Fratello_, after the Winter Festival," Feliciano reminded him, "winter break starts. You won't get to see some of our friends for a while. Do you not want to say goodbye?"

"No, dammit!" Lovino swore. "It's not like it's the end of the world! I'm leaving, alright?!"

"Lovino!" Arthur called out for the brunet. The blond had been stopped by that damn Carriedo, who had threatened to end his life. That wasn't anything new, but it was making him lose time. He didn't have time to spare for Carriedo's bullshit. He had to find Lovino and clear all of their misunderstandings. It was his fault, after all, that his... his _beloved_ was so hurt. He had been pussyfooting all this time, and Arthur _knew _that was the last thing either of them wanted. Still, he kept avoiding the taboo topic of love. He was never a good lover, so he figured that if he stepped around the title of "lover" - left it as implied, suggested, and hinted - then trouble would not invite itself into his life again. He assumed that the two of them understood each other fairly enough, but he never gave Lovino anything with which to work. Lovino had trusted him out of blind faith, and Arthur had managed to botch that as well. "Lovino!" he cried again and again, reaching out for the Italian who was just _so _close yet the boy kept slipping through his fingers like the grains of sand, grains of lost time and opportunities.

Feliciano glared at him this time - viciously - and urged his brother to the front of the school gates. No, no, no, Arthur pleaded, please don't go! Don't leave me! I don't want to be left alone any more! As pathetic as it sounded, he couldn't bear the thought of being separated from Lovino. He loved the Italian with all his heart. He loved his company. He loved his eyes. He loved his blushes. He loved everything there was to love about Lovino.

In one final endeavour, the Briton quickened his pace and used a burst of energy to sprint to the Italian brothers, dashing vigorously, before reaching out for Lovino. Their fingertips brushed against each other, and Lovino immediately pulled his hand away. Hazel eyes flashed fiercely with only what can be called bitterness. "_Stronzo_!" Lovino snapped hotly, slapping Arthur's hand away. "_Vaffanculo_!" At a loss as to what to say to the blond, he cried in a slur of Italian and English, barking, "_Che palle!_ _Da quanto tempo va avanti questa storia_, _figlio di puttana_?! _Non mi rompere i coglioni_! Go back to that - that - that _donnaccia_! _Non me ne frego un cazzo_!"

Hurt flashed in Arthur's green eyes.

Hurt?! Lovino softened a bit. Why the hell would _he_ be hurt?!

"You're misunderstanding, Lovino," the blond whispered softly. "Please, let me explain; it's not what you think." Arthur held onto Lovino's shoulders, and they both tried to ignore the tingling sensations tickling at the end of their nerves.

"_Che cazzo era quel bacio allora_?!" Lovino snapped. "What the fucking hell was with that fucking kiss, bastard?! Answer me!"

"It was just a kiss - "

_Slap!_

Before Lovino even knew what came over him, the palm of his hand struck Arthur across the cheek. A thundering clap resonated in their ears. A sting burned Lovino's palms, the end of his nerves fraying as his flesh throbbed painfully in pure agony. He stared in disbelief, his heart cracking as he watched the Aegean sea ebb dangerously before rolling down white porcelain cheeks. A single drop trickled down the red hand print. Arthur kept his head turned where the force had directed him. His eyes were no longer on Lovino. It was clear the Italian did not want to see him, so Arthur would not see him either if that was what he wanted.

"If 'it was just a kiss,'" Lovino repeated in a whisper, _sotto voce_, but when his heart finally shattered, his voice broke, tearing just as his eyes were, "then what were all of our kisses? What are... What _were_ we?"

"_Fratello_," Feliciano urged softly, "let's go home."

Lovino turned away from Arthur, whose gaze was focused solely on the pavement, fists clenched at his sides, trembling as he forced himself to still. If he had chased after Lovino, would he have scared him away? Should he chase after Lovino? He didn't want to let him go, but if he let him go, would it hurt the Italian less? Tears kept leaking from his eyes. God, he didn't know!

"Arthur," a female voice addressed him gently, "let's go home."

Home? Arthur almost laughed bitterly at the word. He had no home. His home didn't exist. He was exiled from it, and he was a refugee in an older woman's flat! He couldn't do anything, could he?

Then the fireworks!

He wanted to laugh.

Fireworks! Bloody _fireworks_!

What was there to celebrate?

Still, he followed her like a lost dog or a stray cat. She fed him. She clothed him. She kept a roof over his head. He would always feel indebted to her. But he didn't love her. Not like a lover. Because they were kindred spirits. She was lonely like him. She didn't love him either. Not like a lover. Like company. Misery loved company, and they were two miserable people on the surface of the Earth. They licked each other's wounds. Because lions were social felines, they travelled in prides. They lived in prides, and pride was all that he and Marianne had. They were two prideful, miserable lions in this world.

"Go change, Arthur," Marianne told him firmly, directing him to the bedroom. They manoeuvred around Elizabeth's little dance, the kitten trying to assuage her upset master. The Briton saw no reason to defy her, so he obliged. He stripped himself of his military gear and changed into grey joggers and a Beatles t-shirt.

Marianne had decided to avoid the bedroom for now, knowing that it was best to avoid any comforting touch while Arthur was in this sort of state. It was also best to keep him away from the alcohol. Sitting on the living room sectional, she pulled one of the few French classics Arthur kept in his library, _Le Petit Prince,_ and began flipping through the pages, frowning when she heard the low plucking of bass strings resonate past the wooden door. It was a sorrowful bassline - blues, she recognized - heavy and smooth, improvised and raw.

She flipped a page.

The doorbell rang.

She set down her book.

The doorbell rang again.

She frowned, crossed to the front, opened the door, and promptly shut it upon seeing a familiar redhead. Unfortunately for her, Alistair expected such a reaction and had propped his foot at the threshold, preventing her from closing the door entirely. With a single hand, he pried the door open and grinned at her in pure and utter loathing and condescension. "Go away, go away!" she cried, shoving the door back to its closed position with all of her weight. It was useless, however, since Alistair had the physical strength of a rhinoceros and the stubbornness of an ass.

"Isnae 'at a bit harsh? Dornt ye miss me, darlin'?" he remarked sarcastically, narrowing his sharp green eyes at the French woman. Dropping his accent, he hissed resentfully, "Or are you too busy shagging my little brother?"

"Leave already! _Je ne veux jamais te voir encore_!"

The bassline stopped, and so did Marianne's heart. Arthur heard them, and he was going to come out of his room. He would see Alistair, and then... Then what? Alistair would finish what he came for? It's been two years already, so why now? Why - after so long - would he come back to haunt them?

"Marianne, what's - ?" Arthur halted immediately as two pairs of similar green eyes locked together. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What are you doing here?"

"How urr ye daein', wee brither? I came tae pick ye up," Alistair greeted Arthur casually, inviting himself into the flat. He glanced around the apartment and found Winston approaching him curiously. The Scotsman lowered himself on a single knee, patting the pet affectionately, before training his viridian gaze on Arthur. He dropped the accent again, picking up a more solemn, grave tone, "I figured ye might as well spend yer last Christmas wi' us."

Arthur backed away from his brother, nearly tripping over Elizabeth, as he cast a disbelieving stare unto the older man. Alistair was not the slightest bit fazed. "W-Why are you b-being so considerate now of all times? You... You never asked me to visit the other winter holidays," Arthur responded hesitantly, afraid of hearing the answer himself.

"Is it wrong tae wantae protect mah brother? Is it wrong tae tak' him back hame - whaur he _belongs_?!" Alistair snapped, reverting to his accent as he lost control of himself. "A' o' this time, Peter's bin asking us 'When is Arthur goin' tae come back?' or 'Is Arthur visiting this year?' or 'Where's Arthur?' 'n' Ah cannae even tell him, 'n' Aam tired o' this! Whit am Ah suppose tae say?! That Arthur is avoiding his _own family_? That he hates us?!"

"I don't _hate_ you, goddammit!" Arthur returned just as heatedly, his hands flailing wildly in incomprehensible fashions, illustrating and demonstrating his frantic thoughts. "I just wan' da fightin' ter stop! That's all we ever do, Al... an' I 'ate it. _I hate it_. Peter doesn't need that; he doesn't need me there. I'm just the bloody black sheep ov da family, an' you know it! We all know it!"

"_You're family_!"

"I _ruin_ family!" Arthur gestured around him. His accent was now flustered, a mixture of every little thing he knew, and chaotic. "Innit this a prime example ov that?! I'm _here_! In this bloody flat! Why am I 'ere, Alistair?! Tell me why I'm 'ere! You know da reason, an' I know da reason! Owain an' Seamus both know da reason, an' Marianne knows da reason! You're fucking _delusional _if you think we can go back ter that happy, hearty family after all ov that bleedin' _shit_! I _always_ ruin the picture!"

Tears were streaming down Arthur's cheeks, and the blond was fully aware that he wasn't just talking about the incident two years ago now. There was more to it. He had blown his family's trust then, trashed the school like it was his own playground, fucked with the Wang siblings, gotten arrested on Francis' _birthday_, sabotaged Carriedo's relationship with Lovino, destroyed Lovino's relationship with his brother, and then betrayed Lovino! Fuck, the world would have been better off without him! He was a blemish in the picture, the single black sheep in a flock of white! He was the bloody _anomaly_! Without him, his family wouldn't have any problems, Marianne would have a genuine lover, the school would be safer, Jia Long wouldn't be rebelling against Yao every damn moment, Francis would have normal friends, Carriedo would still be with Lovino, Lovino would still be on good terms with his brother, and the world would make fucking sense!

"I _always_ ruin shit, so why da bloody 'ell would you wan' me back in your lives?" Arthur seethed. "You said i' yourself, Alistair! I'm a bastard child, _illegitimate_, born out ov wedlock, a love child who wasn't even _loved_! I 'ave dirty blood in me veins! I'm fuckin' trash, yeah?" His voice fell to a tremble. "I'm just loike... _like my father_."

"Arthur..." Alistair whispered, reaching out for his brother. Marianne slapped his hand away.

"Don't touch him!" she shrieked, cradling the boy in her arms. "You're his brother, are you not? Then don't hurt him!"

"Mary Ann - " Alistair cleared his throat. "At least... Speak with Peter. He did nothing wrong. It's all he wants for Christmas, you know. To see you. All I wanted was - once you get back from college and all - for you to come home. At least once."

"I-Is that all?" Arthur muttered shakily, raking his hands through his hair in distress.

"That's all."

Arthur nodded, stepping out of Marianne's embrace. "Are you sure?" the French woman asked of him. "You went through a lot tonight, Arthur... You... You don't have to."

The disgruntled punk could only give her wry smile. "I make my own choices, you know, Marie-Antoinette. There are some things that I have to do."

She scoffed lightly, shoving him playfully. "Giving me such a nickname, really! King Arthur of Britannia! There is something off with your humor!"

Arthur turned to his brother. "Just let me grab a few things," the blond responded calmly before marching to his bedroom. There, Arthur stuffed his Gibson into its gig case, making sure it was properly protected, before shoving his cell phone charger, cables, tuners, and spare strings into the front pouch of the bag and zipping it shut. He reached for his sports bag, shoving three pairs of pants and trousers, three shirts, and a spare pair of socks into it. He changed out of his joggers, throwing on a pair of denim jeans instead, and pulled on a pair of socks before stepping into his motorcycle boots. He shrugged on an extra layer, a long-sleeved woven red plaid shirt, over his Beatles shirt as well as his leather jacket and wrapped a knit Union Jack muffler around his neck. Slipping on his leather gloves, Arthur snatched his keys off the bedside table, slipped his phone and wallet in the pockets of his motorcycle jacket, and set his helmet under his arm. Slinging the gig case over his shoulder, Arthur marched out of the bedroom.

"That's it?" Alistair inquired sceptically.

"It's all I need," Arthur responded as he elbowed his way past them. "Marianne, if you can't take care of Elizabeth and Winston, then ask Miss Jane for assistance. She knows what to do. Don't wait for me." With that, Arthur sprinted down the hall. Knowing that his brother could catch and corner him in the lift, the blond dashed into the emergency staircase, climbing down the steps haphazardly two or three steps at a time, unwilling to stop to the cries behind him. He needed to get away from all of this. It was earlier than he had expected, but it was better to do this sooner than wait later. Before his brother could stop him, he shoved his bag into the boot of his motorcycle, shoved his keys into the ignition, and started the engine. Without so much of a second thought or glance, Arthur burned rubber. Two years have already passed; that was a long enough time to wait and plan and contemplate. Now he could leave this all behind.

* * *

"_Hey, Lovino, it's Arthur. I know you don't want to see me right now, but I know that I have a lot of explaining to do as well. It's fine if you don't want to hear it. It's fine if you hate me. Just... Will you let me talk? Call me back, all right? I'll be waiting._"

_"Hey, Lovino, it's me again. I know it's bloody rude to show up unexpected, but I'm heading to your place. A lot of shit has happened. You don't have to open up. I..." _There was a sharp inhale and a shaky exhale, liking the stifling of a sob._ "Please just let me calm down in front of your house."_

_"Hey, Lovino, I... I know you're ignoring these calls. I really am sorry, Lovino."_

_"I... I want to see you again, you git. I'm just talking to myself here."_

_"Lovino, I'm sorry. I..."_ There was a nervous gulp._ "I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say. I don't know anything at all."_ There was yet another shaky exhale. As though he was trembling. Crying._ "I'm such an idiot. Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and undone what is to be done. Make life easier. Simpler. For everyone. But it doesn't work that way."_ There was sheepish laughter, cracked with tears. "_Bloody paradoxes, yeah? Inventing a time machine to go back in the past is impossible. Maybe I can go into the future then and build a new future... One with you."_

_"I really want to see you again, Lovino. There's too much to say that I can't say over the phone. That's... That's not how it works. I want to explain my actions, but I guess that will have to wait for another time. I'm sorry for being such trouble. I... I don't mean to do these things. It's just how it turns out. I've told you that I was a black sheep before, right?"_ He laughed in amusement. _"Right now, your neighbours are glaring at me. I think they're threatening to call the cops."_

_"This is my last call, Lovino. I just saw the lights go out, so I won't bother you any more. Goodnight... I hope you have sweet dreams, little ankle-biter."_

* * *

Lovino peeked out of the window, watching as a red light faded into the distance, a singular streak disappearing as quick as lightning. He held his phone to his chest, tears dripping down his chin. God, he was such a coward, a miserable coward but a coward nonetheless.

He had trusted Arthur, and he wanted to trust Arthur... But he knew nothing? Was it even possible to build a relationship on blind faith?

Shit.

He wondered just what was Arthur feeling at this moment, what pains through which he had undergone, what emotions he was suffering, what thoughts he was contemplating.

He unlocked his cell phone and stared at the background image of a well-dressed pirate before powering it off. It was time for bed, and he didn't need his phone going off every minute.

* * *

Arthur stuffed his keys into the pocket of his motorcycle jacket, zipping it shut, since he knew all too well by now about pickpockets easily nicking possessions in tight, crowded venues. The blond crossed to the bar shoved into the corner. The bartender, an dark skinned man of a towering stature, was serving only three guests at the moment, a pair of girls and an older man dressed in a cheap grey suit. Arthur occupied the shredded cushioned seat next to the girls and ordered some coke and rum. When asked for his ID, Arthur promptly presented his card before shoving his wallet into his back pocket, immediately sitting - albeit uncomfortably - on the round lump. The blond slapped his money onto the counter, telling the bartender not to bother with the change - in order words, keep the money. All of it. He didn't give a bloody damn.

"Don't see you around these parts often," the bartender commented as he watched Arthur drown his drink in only a few short moments after a short, dejected, "Cheers," with slight amusement. Seeing that he wasn't busy, the older man didn't see the problem in chatting with his clients. Thus, the bartender raised the rum bottle once to ask if the blond wanted more. The boy shook his head. He didn't need to feel any more muddled when he was going to on the road for longer than he'd like.

"I live close to the city centre," Arthur replied.

"Quite a ways from home, are you?"

"Hah!" Arthur scoffed at the inquiry. "If I had one, then, yes, I would be!"

"Yikes, mummy and daddy troubles?"

"I wish it was that simple. I have no mother or father."

"My apologies."

"It's no problem, Boss." Arthur slumped in his seat. "If life was that simple, then I'd probably be out of a job anyway. I'm a troublemaker, you know? A nuisance. World would probably be better off without me."

The bartender chuckled, shaking his head. "One drink and you're already blabbering about suicidal thoughts, boy?"

"It's not like you in particular care about me, Boss. What's it to you if I want to hurl myself off a bridge? Well, other than the fact that you lose one less customer, I don't see much of a problem for you."

"Not exactly, no. It worries me to see a youth drinking alcohol and speaking so easily of death, however."

"I doubt we will see each other after this, but if it concerns you so much, Boss, I assure you that I'm not going to be dying any time soon," Arthur vowed wholeheartedly, "I've got crap to do."

The bartender laughed at this response. "Well, that's good, I suppose. I can't give you any advice in life though, boy," he remarked, crossing his arms, as he leaned against the glass cabinet behind him. "I mean, look at me, I'm wiping bar counters clean and polishing wine glasses! I'm not the _ideal _role model, yeah?"

"It's an honest job," Arthur replied shortly. "It's better than a good lot of other options."

"Right. Hey, while you're here, why don't you play something?" the bartender suggested as he jerked his thumb towards the empty stage. He nodded towards the bass on Arthur's back. "You brought an instrument with you, didn't you?"

"Not tonight, Boss," Arthur declined politely. "I've too much shit on my mind. I don't think I could play properly."

"Rubbish!" the girl sitting beside him protested, jumping onto her feet. Arthur stared at her, flabbergasted, and inched slightly away from her as she approached him. The girl, who didn't appear to be much older than he was, although she and her friend may have been around his age considering the fact that most bars didn't admit patrons under the age of seventeen, had brown hair, almost auburn with the pink tinge, pulled into twin tails with black silk ribbons, curled into ringlets, and black bobby pins parting her fringe. Her eyes were the colour of baby blue robin eggs while light freckles sprinkled across her nose, contrasting her lighter complexion. She wore a peach coloured parka fashioned like a shawl with a hood lined with white fur over a white lace top with a floral pattern and a pleated pink skirt lined with lace ribbons at the end, settled on top of several layers of white petticoats. Blue and white striped socks stretched to her thighs while she donned black Mary-Janes. She pouted her glossy lips at Arthur, whining, in a North London dialect, "You can't just bring an instrument to a venue and say that you're not going to play! That just doesn't make sense!"

"Victoria - " protested her friend, who also spoke with a North London dialect. The other girl was around the same height and had the same figure as the first one. Her colouring was different, however, and Arthur could have presumed the two of them to be sisters. Her quieter, more elegant friend, on the other hand, had dark blond hair the colour of a dimly glowing moon pulled into straight twin tails, the fringe parted with bobby pins as well, and jade green eyes hiding behind a pair of wire frames. She wore a black cadet hat along with a black coat over a white lace top with a floral design matching that of her friend's. Instead of the pink skirt, the blonde wore a pair of blue denim shorts with black stockings and blue ballet flats. On her back, she carried a guitar case.

"Lisa, you know I'm right!" the brunette, presumably Victoria, turned to Arthur, narrowing her eyes in suspicion.

"Listen, I didn't actually mean to come here! It just sort of happened and - "

She tutted and wagged her finger at him. Without waiting for any excuses or explanations, Victoria began to pull him through the crowd much against his protests and throw him onto the stage. She climbed up there with him with a fairly innocent - yeah right, griped Arthur, like bloody hell she was innocent - smile and skipped to the drum set. With a sigh, the blonde girl had also joined them, revealing a beautiful turquoise Fender Stratocaster. She spared Arthur a pitiful smile before plugging in her cable to the amps that were already set on-stage, adjusting the volume levels, effects, and distortions. Arthur bit his tongue and began to do the same, taking out his Les Paul Standard-SG bass and cable. He plugged it into a Marshall amplifier nearby after confirming it to be compatible with bass guitars.

"Do you know Pink Floyd?" she asked him tentatively.

"You play Pink Floyd?" Arthur returned before recalling that it was rude to answer a question with a question.

"Ah, Victoria usually wants to play heavier music, so she can bang the drums that way. But... I don't think she minds right now. She just wants to hear you play, I think," the blonde girl explained. "What do you normally play?"

"Punk, normally," Arthur confessed, "some heavy metal, some rock 'n' roll, some blues, some progressive, some psychedelic, some post-rock or hardcore - anything, really, but pop. Too repetitive. It's like playing the bass or cello in Pachelbel's Canon in D - so repetitive it puts you to sleep."

"Pink Floyd, it is then," the blonde confirmed with an impressed smile, striking a chord that Arthur instantly realised as "Wish You Were Here." How ironic, he thought to himself as he listened to the female guitarist's smooth improvisation blending the two original guitars together, keeping up with the tempo and all, in a solo. Nevertheless, despite the sarcasm pooling in his stomach, the bassist played along. For now, he was dead to the world. For the rest of winter break, he didn't want to exist because winter break was always the worst time of year.

He hadn't realised when his fingers started moving on their own accord, plucking the thick metal strings fluidly as though it was second nature. He hadn't realised that he had lost himself to the music, harmonising with the girls' in the chorus. He hadn't realised that he had gotten sucked into another world, far, far away from his troubles.

* * *

**A/N:** I feel like I've used almost every canonised character in Hetalia, so I kind of switched to 2p! and Nyotalia. There will be more on names in the next chapter.

And, yikes, a lot of crap just happened.


	27. Chapter 27 - English Roses

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: English Roses**

"Nice one!"

"Not just nice, Lisa! Like, _really_ nice! That was _brilliant_!"

"Oh, right, how rude of us. I'm Elisabeth, and this is Victoria."

"Ha, just call her Lisa, luv. Isn't it cuter?"

"Oh, hush you! Don't mind her, if you will. So, err... It's rather impolite to ask this _now_, but... Pardon me for asking, but what's your name?"

"Honestly, it's just as rude on my part for not introducing myself earlier, Miss Elisabeth; my name's Arthur."

"Oh, you can drop the formalities since we're not that much older than you - if you would, that is!"

"I've just realised that our group currently consists of a Queen Elisabeth, a Queen Victoria, and a King Arthur! How funny! We should start a band! Wouldn't that be great?!"

* * *

"Kiiiiiinnnggg!" whined a particularly rowdy and eccentric young woman as she wrapped her arms around Arthur's neck. To do so, however, she had to leap off the floor to cover the good three or four inches separating them. She squealed in delight as Arthur chuckled and spun her around in a hug. When she saw that he was shouldering his cell phone while humouring her, she gasped as though disappointed with herself, retracted her arms shamefully, and placed her delicate forefinger in front of her lips, silencing herself. Arthur copied her actions with an endearing, brotherly smile and winked at her. "Understood, King!" she chirped before blowing him a kiss and fixing her skirt and the black ribbons in her hair. Then she skipped off to find Lisa in their small flat located in the heart of the capital city. The irony was that Arthur acted like the older brother even though he was an entire year younger, give or take a few months, days, hours, minutes, and seconds.

The two female musicians were first year students taking courses in contemporary (Victoria) and classical (Lisa) music at an arts conservatory in the city centre located not too far away from their flat. Once a month, they would play a regular gig at Alice's, where they had met Arthur only a few nights - two or three at the most - prior. They didn't question why Arthur was a "temporary" homeless or runaway (Victoria preferred to think the former so that they could adopt him as their house pet while Lisa was more rational and leaned towards the latter), but after their connection, the two girls were happy to receive him as a guest and as a band-mate. Victoria had insisted, stubbornly and persistently, to form a band since they were named after royals. To the eccentric and somewhat obsessive brunette, it was a sign from the Heavens, a sort of Divine Right or Will or whatever rubbish she had claimed. According to her reasoning, Arthur was King while Lisa and Victoria were Queens - although the others would agree that Victoria was more of a spoiled, pampered little princess. Nevertheless, to Arthur, it was a refuge from that empty flat and from that quarrelsome household.

The girls were also incredibly respectful in regards to his privacy. They never questioned why he rang up someone every morning at ten o'clock and left a voicemail, why he rang again at four o'clock in the afternoon and left a voicemail, and why he rang once more at ten o'clock at night and left a voicemail. Personally, Victoria thought he was wasting his time; whoever didn't pick up the stupid call any of those times was an idiot! It simply wasn't worth the all of that trouble!

Victoria slipped away from their tiny balcony, closing the glass sliding doors behind her to give Arthur more privacy, and crossed their studio flat to the kitchen area, where Lisa was sipping a cup of tea at the small round table they had, which only seated four. Everything about their flat was small and tiny and practically microscopic, but neither Victoria nor Lisa minded. It made everything cosy, so to speak. The girls only had a loft area on one side of the flat in which to sleep, where Victoria took to the second flight and Lisa rested on the bed below that, so Arthur rested on the futon sofa bed they had in the middle of their floor, in front of a bubble-shaped TV from the nineties that they barely watched. The bathroom was located on the far side of the flat, and it was just as claustrophobic as the rest of the layout. Additionally, if they wanted to do their laundry, they would have to haul it to the laundromat down the street. Not that they minded. Most days.

"He's ringing up that lover of his?" Lisa inquired casually.

Victoria sighed. "If they don't want King, I'll snag him for myself!" she griped with a childish pout on her lips. "Honestly! He's such a catch! Good-looking, athletic, smart, _and _musical! Who _doesn't_ want that? He works so hard, too!"

Ever since Arthur had moved into their flat, the blond picked up a job waiting tables at Alice's. He served as a waiter on occasion, when the establishment was short on staff, but usually was wiping tables clean with a rag cloth and cleaning solution. Although Lisa and Victoria insisted that Arthur was their guest and didn't need to do anything, the blond was a gentleman and refused to let what little pride he had left - after all, they practically found him on the streets after their impromptu session - get trampled and crushed.

"Oh, leave him alone," Lisa remarked nonchalantly, finishing the rest of her perfectly brewed tea and slightly burnt scones. (She found it odd that she could never get them to turn out like her tea!) It was just ten minutes past four. Arthur would be done with his phone call, if one could even call it that, soon. The blond never took more than ten minutes. Sometimes, glancing at the window, Lisa could see Arthur's lips move in a song. Other times, he was simply rambling or reciting Shakespeare or Wordsworth. Arthur was always doing _something_ as though vainly hoping or praying for that person to hear him, listen to him, or, more simply, to pick up his calls. "His shift starts in two hours. Maybe we should get him something to eat?"

"I can cook - "

"You can _bake_, not cook, Victoria dear. We're going to get something of actual, genuine sustenance to eat." Lisa snatched another one of her hats off the counter, this time a classy white sun hat, along with her keys. She becked for her friend to follow after her. "Come along now!"

"Oh, fine!" Victoria fumed childishly.

Meanwhile, Arthur was leaning against the balcony, singing the lyrics to a song Lovino's probably never even heard before in his entire life until then, if he chose to listen, before speaking again, "I'm wasting your time, aren't I? That's all I have now - too much of it, actually - time, that is. I can't stop thinking... Especially about you. You never told me to stop doing this, so I won't, Lovino. It's the only way I can reach you right now until you let me see you again." His voice trembled slightly, cracking as he mused, "I've never been so desperate before. You're driving me crazy - no, _crazier _- little ankle-biter. I've been going mad without you. Hurry up and respond, dammit, you git. Give me a sign or _something_!" He laughed. "I miss you so much." With that, he hung up and ended the call.

On the other end of the call, on the other side of town, Lovino covered his eyes, refusing to show anyone his tears. Why, all of a sudden, did _he_ feel like the bad guy? He didn't do anything wrong! Arthur was the one being secretive and ambiguous! Lovino should hate him! ...but why doesn't he? Why does he feel the need to get closer, to close this gap between them, to bridge their understanding, when he knew that, dammit, it was impossible?! He wasn't perfect like that golden haired French woman. She could keep up with Arthur. Lovino tripped over his own feet. She could satiate him. Lovino shied away from intimate touches. She was mature. Lovino was a child.

Shoving his uniform into his bag, Lovino's fingers brushed against the soft white fabric of the toy Maltese Arthur had given him over the summer. His heart skipped a beat, panicked and fervent, as he chastised himself. It was better to get over that bastard... But why couldn't he? There was more to the story, obviously, and Lovino couldn't figure out if he wanted to know the truth, the details, the reality or not. Since when was answering yes or no so difficult, damn it all? Lovino grounded his teeth, slamming his locker shut and punching it in agitation. It _shouldn't _be this hard!

Lovino slung his satchel onto his shoulder, stomping out of the employee room, trying to convince himself that, no, he was not in the wrong. His anger is justified in every way! ...wasn't it? No, no, no! Lovino shook his head vigorously. He was doubting himself again! Palming his forehead, the Italian wondered if Arthur was okay though. He always sounded like he was dying during those voicemails.

"What are you bastards still doing here?" Lovino hissed as he narrowed his eyes at the sight of the trio still sitting at their table. Their disgusting wurst and pepperoni pizza had been long finished, and all three of them had stopped asking, requesting, or flat-out demanding refills. Plus, Lovino was off work now, so they had no further obligations to harass him while he was working his shift. "Don't you have anything better to do, dammit?"

Francis frowned at Lovino's inquiry before replying tersely, "If we did, do you think we would be here, _petit garçon_?"

Lovino scowled, and Antonio immediately tried to alleviate the situation. "Lovi, Lovi, _calma_! _Calma_!" Antonio coaxed, waving his hands about frantically. "Francisco did not mean to say it like that - right, Francisco?" The Frenchman did not reply. He remained frowning. Lovino clicked his tongue. Whatever. He didn't care. It's not his problem with which to deal that Francis went through monthly cycles like a bitch. "He is just upset, Lovi. _El diablo Inglés _- err - Kirkland, he... He disappeared."

Lovino raised a skeptical eyebrow. "What are you talking about, bastards? What do you mean he 'disappeared'?" That's impossible. Arthur called him everyday! He couldn't have just _disappeared_.

"It is exactly what it sounds like," Francis snapped impatiently, at the end of his rope. Patience was slipping out of his hands before he could grasp it in a desperate attempt to remain calm. The young Frenchman seemed to have sobered some, however, when he heard the sound of his voice. He massaged his temples, muttering a low, almost incoherent, "_Desolé._" He might have been sincere, but it was overwhelmed by the conflict he felt tearing apart his mind and body.

Gilbert leaned over the table, whispering to Lovino, "Francis is taking it pretty hard. He thinks the whole thing could have been prevented, but who knows?" Sitting back down properly, the albino cast a weary glance towards Francis, who hadn't torn his blue eyes away from the tiled floor. Judging by the look in his eyes, he seemed to be visualizing some kind of chess or checkers match with the black and white tiling. Nobody blamed him. In fact, Gilbert fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers then, needing something to occupy his mind and his hands right about now. He didn't want to think about any worse possibilities or the worst case scenario either now. The three of them already had some pretty damn terrible ideas, especially considering the time period.

"Kirkland wouldn't answer his phone no matter who called," Antonio informed in an amiable tone - much more amicable than Francis' - before adding, "no matter what time either."

"Maybe he just doesn't want to talk to you bastards," Lovino suggested halfheartedly. He didn't want to know that what he was hearing was the real, actual truth. There was no way Arthur would just up and disappear. It wasn't logical. Arthur would never just _go_... Right?

No, wrong, Lovino quickly recalled, he had left for the interview in England without telling anyone but me.

"Do you think that we haven't thought of that?" Francis barked indignantly. "If he didn't answer to me, Gilbert, or Antoine, then, okay, fine, maybe he's ignoring us. However, he didn't answer to Kiku, to Jia Long, to Alfred or Matthieu, to Mathias, to Vladimir, to Lukas, to Michelle, to Émilie, to Yao Wang, to Heracles, to Roderich, to Elizaveta, to Vash, to Neeraja, to Gupta, to Lars - to anyone else whom we asked to call him?! Do you think we haven't tried to reach him?!"

Gilbert shot up in his seat, slamming his palms flat against the surface of the table and thereby startling Francis and Lovino, effectively silencing the young Frenchman while Antonio sat quietly, appearing somewhat lifeless. Ignoring the stares he attracted and the scene he caused, Gilbert asked of his friend tentatively, "Fran, you okay?"

"_Je ne sais pas_," the blond answered in a low voice, entirely despondent. He shook his head, raking his hand through his blond locks, tangling his perfect ponytail. "Two years ago, this day, the same thing happened," Francis muttered, distraught. "What if history repeated itself? This time, who picked him off the streets? It wasn't me. It wasn't you, Gilbert. It wasn't you, Antoine. Who could it be? Could we trust them?"

"Arthur can hold his own," Gilbert insisted.

"Not against his brothers, he can't!" Francis argued. "Especially not against Alistair! How many other people are out there on this island who is just as strong as that man?! Stronger than Arthur?!"

"H-How do we know that he's not at his apartment, b-bastards?"

"We visited already," Gilbert informed the Italian as nonchalantly and collectedly as he was capable of pulling off. "_Fräulein _Jane said that he ran out of the building. His brother was chasing after him. The family didn't call the police even though Arthur's been gone for three days."

T-Three days?!

"How stupid," Francis grumbled. "Thinking that they could handle it on their own, thinking that they know Arthur best. Who has been there for him in the past two years? It was us three! They had _nothing_ to do with it!"

Lovino hurriedly whipped out his cell phone and dialed Arthur's number. Francis watched bitterly, and the Italian's heart sunk when he heard an automatic message reading, "_The number you have dialed is currently unavailable_..." Upon seeing the reaction on Lovino's face, Francis turned away with a slightly disappointed visage. The Frenchman had already known the outcome, and yet he still allowed himself to hope. Lovino, on the other hand, was filled with dread, anxiety, and anticipation. No, this can't be... This isn't real! This was a dream! Lovino thought back to the night when Arthur had dropped by his house and told him that he didn't have to invite him inside. He was happy just staying outside, talking one-sidedly with an answering machine, leaving a message even though he knew Lovino would most likely not reply. If Lovino had invited him inside the house, then maybe...

No, he didn't know Arthur would do that, running away, disappearing. Nobody did. Was that, maybe, a cry for help from that proud, spiteful lion? And Lovino had ignored it? Lovino scrolled through his call history, looking for a pattern of sorts. Aside from the one he made now, there was one at three minutes past four, ten sharp at the morning. The day prior, there was a call at ten minutes past ten o'clock at night, then one at four in the afternoon, and then one at five minutes past ten.

Ten-four-ten? Lovino glanced at the time. There was still six hours. Did he have time at all before Arthur did something stupid or crazy? Lovino sprinted out of the pizzeria and began scouring the town for any signs of a bushy-browed blond. Unfortunately, there was almost none.

"_Veee~ _Fratello, Nonno _is getting worried."_

"_Hey, this is Francis. Have you seen Arthur around town yet?_"

"_Lovi, maybe you should turn around. It's getting dark._"

"_Look at what I've found on the Internet!_"

"Stupid albino bastard! I don't have time for your jokes!" Lovino snapped, but instead of hitting the delete option, he had ended up slamming his thumb against the link by accident and opening the video link. The Italian immediately gawked at the sight of the blond playing music with two girls around his age. Arthur? Who was he with this time? What was he doing? What's going on? At a loss of what to do, Lovino willingly called Gilbert, who answered and informed the Italian that he was on the line with Francis and Antonio as well. "What the hell did you send me, albino bastard?!"

"_I found Arthur! He's all over the Internet_!" the albino explained over the phone. "_I'm trying to figure out where they recorded the clip_!"

"_And where are you, Gilbert_?" Francis inquired.

"_The town library! Arthur likes to read, so I figured he would be hiding in here!_"

"_But _is _he, _amigo? _I'm walking down _Calle Pasión_ and can't find him. I should be approaching the library soon._"

"Nein_,_" Gilbert answered dejectedly, "_he's not. I spotted some lame-ass, wannabe punks who were watching him on their phones. They called them the 'English Roses,' or whatever. Apparently, they're all from England. It's probably a one-night only kind of thing though. It was an impromptu jam session, according to the bartender._"

"How the fucking hell does information spread that fast, you bastard?!" Lovino screeched.

"_It's the _Internet_, Lovino. What did you expect? Privacy protection? Besides, whatever Artie's been doing, he's got three days to do it. That's probably more than enough time to go viral, but they've mostly gathered local attention though._"

"_All of _that_ and you still don't know where he is_?" was Francis' incredulous response.

"_These things take time!_" Gilbert screeched indignantly. Lovino could hear a chorus of people shushing the albino beyond the speaker. "_Anyway, if you guys weren't so damn impatient, I could have awesomely told you that the clip was filmed at a pub called Alice's_. _There's only two problems: one is that it's all across town, and the second is that they don't admit people under seventeen... so Lovino can't go._"

"Chigi! What are you? My mothers?! I can take care of myself, and I can look for Arthur myself! _Vaffanculo, bastardi_!" With that, Lovino promptly terminated the call and stuffed the phone back into his pocket, grumbling under his breath about stupid German albinos and perverted Frenchmen and idiotic Spaniards. As soon as the phone slipped comfortably into his pocket, however, it began vibrating again with an incoming. In blind fury, Lovino answered it without even checking the caller id, "Argh_, quale bastardo è questa volta? Chi parla?_" When nobody answered immediately within the two or three second time frame, Lovino snapped, "_Che cazzo vuoi, bastardo_?!"

There was soft chuckling on the other line. Lovino halted in his steps. He recognized this laugh. He knew this laugh. He fucking loved this damn laugh.

"_Well, that's a pleasant greeting... You don't want to talk, Lovino?"_

"You fucking bastard!" Lovino barked vehemently. "Where the hell did you disappear to? Everyone is fucking worried about you!" Tears poured out of his eyes, and Lovino turned around a corner, plopping himself onto a cold park bench. He choked out, "Shit. Shit. _Shit_. W-What the f-fuck is with you not t-telling an-anyone a-anything, b-ba-bastard? D-Dammit, wh-what if something happened to you b-but nobody knew? Who would come to get your bleeding carcass?"

"_H-Hey, don't cry!"_

"Don't flatter yourself! I'm not crying because of you!"

"_So you _are _crying!"_

"Did I say that?!"

"_You just did! Lovino, stop being ridiculous! Please... Please stop crying! I... I can't comfort you on the other side of town."_

"Then haul your ass over here, bastard! I want to see you, dammit, and beat you up for that massive influx of voicemails you left! Do you think that's cool, bastard?! It's fucking annoying!"

Arthur laughed. "_Yes, all right, I'll go. Wait for me?_"

"Well, no shit! If I wander off, how are you going to find me, huh? You know how hard it was to find _you_?!"

"_As elegant and eloquent as ever, Lovino."_

"Fucking sarcastic bastard. Hurry up and get your ass here so I can kick it around."

"_Yes, yes. Just hurry and tell me where you are, git. I'll try to get there under thirty minutes."_

But thirty minutes passed in the blink of an eye. Thirty minutes mulled into forty-five, which grew to an hour, which elongated to an hour and fifteen minutes, which -

Lovino's phone rang.

"_Ve, _Fratello, _are you coming home yet?"_

"Feli, I'm a little busy right now. I'll be home soon, alright? _Ciao_." However, as soon as he hung up, Lovino received yet another call. He barely glanced at the caller ID, catching a glimpse of Arthur's name, and answered, "Hey, bastard, why are you so late - ?"

"_I'm sorry for the disturbance_," answered a voice clearly belonging to a woman. She interrupted Lovino quickly in order not to waste time and to relay her message. Speaking professional, she continued, "I_ am a nurse from St. Maria's Hospital, calling on behalf of Mr. Arthur Kirkland. On his phone, the last call log and most frequently called was your number. Am I speaking with, err, 'Little Ankle-Biter'_?"

Lovino didn't even think twice of the ridiculous name entry. Instead, all he could think about was, "Arthur's in the hospital? Why? What happened?"

"_Mr. Arthur Kirkland is in the emergency room at the moment. He's been in a traffic accident_," answered the nurse. "_It seems that he is in critical condition_."

Lovino's heart stopped completely.

_Dammit, what if something happened to you but nobody knew? Who would come to get your bleeding carcass? ...haul your ass over here, bastard! I want to see you, dammit..._

It was his fault, wasn't it?

* * *

"This place is pretty quiet when there's no acts playing," Arthur commented as he took a seat at the bar counter, throwing the white rag onto the surface. "It's almost like a legitimate pub. Classy almost. Refined almost. Just needs a new paint job." He gave Cameron a cheeky grin, holding up a single forefinger to indicate the number of drinks. "Got any gin?"

"Not for you, bus-boy," the bartender remarked casually with a cheerful laugh. "You might be off work now, but I'm not giving you alcohol when you're driving back home sometime soon. You never stay too late, Arthur."

"Well, first things first, it's a little lonely to drink by myself... Plus, Lisa and Victoria freak out if I'm not back by midnight. Secondly, I don't think you _drive_ a motorcycle, per se," Arthur returned light-heartedly. "You _ride_ it, yeah?"

"Don't be such a smart-ass, Arthur," Cameron retorted just as lightly. He crossed his arms and gave the blond an amused, almost mystified, expression. The bartender commented, "Really, you're such a mystery. One day, you just randomly pop into our lives, but... It doesn't feel like you're here to stay, are you? Victoria's going to be upset about that."

"Victoria is eighteen, nineteen years old," Arthur pointed out with a smile, "a strong, independent woman. She doesn't need to cling to me. They were fine before me, weren't they? So they'll continue to be fine without me."

"Ahh, but to Victoria, it's more like... How do I say this nicely...?" Cameron hummed in thought, tapping his dark fingers against the flesh of his arm before snapping them upon reaching an epiphany. "It's like bringing home a lost dog and never wanting to let it go! For Victoria, it's like that!"

"Nice to know I'm a lost dog."

Cameron chortled. "You looked every bit like a wild mutt when you walked through those doors, boy," the bartender remarked. "I knew from first sight that you had a story. Was I right?"

"Well, you weren't wrong."

"Smart-ass."

Arthur glanced at the clock. It was nine fifty-six, well approaching ten o'clock, before pulling out his iPhone. He gave Cameron a sheepish grin and questioned, "Mind if I make a call?"

"Go ahead," the bartender answered politely, gesturing for Arthur to dial away. The blond gave a courteous, polite nod, unlocking the phone with his thumbprint, before smiling softly at the background picture. Cameron returned to polishing his wine glasses, shot glasses, and champagne flutes. Arthur tapped his fingers against the surface of the bar counter, huddled in a corner, along to the dial tone. He hadn't expected anything different this time: as usual, it would direct him to voicemail, and he would leave a message. That was why his green eyes glistened with sheer surprise and delirious euphoria when he heard the call connect, widening to the size of the moon. He grinned to himself as he heard the familiar Italian spit viciously into the receiver.

"Well, that's a pleasant greeting," he mused aloud, faltering for only a second, hesitant, before picking up where he had left, voice softer and gentler. "You don't want to talk, Lovino?" Cameron's eyes widened at the sound of an answer to Arthur's call. In the past few days and nights, he believed the Briton hopeless, but it appeared that not all hope was lost.

Before he knew it, Arthur was engaged in fervent and playful bantering and bickering. In minutes, the blond was up and out of the doors, still dressed in his waiter uniform, with a black helmet under his arm. His phone was still pressed to his ear, and a smile was carved onto his lips, finishing off his already ethereal appearance. Cameron smiled warmly at the scene, musing to himself, "Hope that boy gets a happy ending." He went back to polishing his glasses, oblivious to the scene that was to take place.

Arthur had long disconnected the call with Lovino, waiting in front of a red traffic light to keep his end of the promise. The phone was stuffed into the pocket of his motorcycle jacket, which he had slipped onto his shoulders on the way out of the pub. His glove covered fingers drummed against the handlebars rhythmically, counting the time it took until the lights would turn green, debating whether or not he should run it, before a screech behind him broke him away from his inner conflict. Arthur turned his head, and his eyes only caught a flash of headlights before his body was sent flying across the intersection.

There was a sickening crack.

Instinctively, his body curled into itself, still moving from the gain in momentum, to protect as much of his remaining life as he could. Arthur wrapped his arms around his head, hoping to minimise damage to his cranium, as he rolled wildly, uncontrollably on the road until friction slowed him. He could feel the fabric of his uniform tearing off his body, the skin of his legs ripping against the gravel, the small pebbles in the ground digging into his fresh wounds, and the skull of his head pounding against the road. He gasped as he felt the vectors caused by some passing vehicle press against his leg, but he didn't feel any hundreds or thousands tonnes of weight crush his limb. At least he was that fortunate.

Fuck. He couldn't move. He couldn't stand. He was in the middle of traffic. Trembling, Arthur forced all of his weight onto his arms, dragging his body across the gravel, ignoring the rips and tears his uniform was obtaining, in a desperate crawl to reach the pavement. A few inches' stretch suddenly felt like running five or ten or even twenty kilometres before, finally, the blond collapsed onto the pavement, a bleeding carcass.

An agonising cough racked itself from his throat, hacking up blooding that stained the pavement, sending his body into violent spasms as he tried to calm himself. Shit, he couldn't pick himself up and limp to the nearest clinic. W-What the bloody hell? He couldn't even reach for his phone? His breathing grew shallow and short as he suddenly realised his need and dying thirst for air, but everything he inhaled or exhaled, there was a sharp pain. Shit, shit, shit! Why was it difficult to breathe? Why did it hurt to breathe? It should have been first or second nature! Get yourself together, Arthur, you bloody git! the blond scolded himself. Lovino's waiting!

He didn't hear the sirens wailing in the distance. He didn't hear the concerned voices asking if he was okay. He didn't hear the scarred witnesses crying or whispering or panicking. He didn't hear the paramedics demanding to give them space. He didn't hear the police officers or the fire department or any other shit. The only thing he could hear was that single thought in his mind, "Crap, Lovino's going to be so _pissed off_."

* * *

**A/N:**

Himaruya once commented on the names suggested for Nyo!England that "Elizabeth" was a good one, but so was "Lisa," the name of one of his British friends. I combined the two of them into "Elisabeth" and, to avoid confusion with the cat, had her close friends call her Lisa. Victoria is 2p!Nyo!England, and although Olivia seemed to be the most popular name for her, I found that I liked the name Victoria better. It fit more with the royalty scheme. I love the idea of the two of them being in a band with Iggy; it's kind of like a twisted self!cest harem. I'm amused by it, frankly speaking. Also, on the topic of names, if you add an "o" into Cameron's name, what do you get? (If you answered "Cameroon," you're correct. It means that I'm lazy.)

I always put Arthur through shit. Sorry.


	28. Chapter 28 - Dying and Dead

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Dying and the Dead**

The first thing that Lovino did was run. He hadn't even realized that he needed to call the others until he reached the hospital, but they seemed to have gotten the message as well. Lovino stared at three familiar faces and three unknown faces waiting outside the emergency room, panting heavily, as they stared back, looking as though they had seen a ghost. Gilbert was noticeably pale, paler than usual, and almost hollow like a phantom. Antonio wasn't smiling anymore, and he seemed to have lost any trace of emotion and the entirety of his carefree demeanor. On the other hand, Francis was a hurricane of emotions, ranging from panic to anger to sorrow to misery. There were also two girls wearing matching outfits (save for the hair accessories) in different colors holding hands to comfort each other. They sat at the side of a dark skinned man, who wrapped his arms around them in a reassuring manner, resting their hands on his lap. The brunette was sniffling and wiping away her tears with the back of her free hand.

"Lovi," Antonio called to the Italian gently, stretching out a hand. Although Lovino didn't accept the offered hand, he sat down next to Antonio. Francis sat between the Spaniard and their German friend. The taller brunet informed his ex-boyfriend softly, "It's been almost an hour since he was admitted," trying not to upset the younger boy.

That was when the brunette jumped onto her feet then, narrowing her blue eyes at Lovino, and pointed an accusing finger at him. "_You're _'Lovino'?" she snapped bitterly. "You're the one King calls every day at ten, four, and ten again? If you are, then you're the reason why King's - "

"Victoria!" the blonde snapped, pulling her friend back down with a displeased and impatient glare. If the situation hadn't been so grave, Lovino would have commented on how much she resembled a female version of Arthur. "Enough! It's nobody's fault! It was an _accident_!"

"But King is - King wanted - King's... King..." The brunette burst into tears, and her friend wrapped her arms around her in a warm embrace. Her jade green eyes were clouded with condensed tears threatening to fall as well. Lovino was frozen stiff even though Antonio tried to assure him otherwise. The Italian knew it was his fault; he had told Arthur to come back. Arthur wouldn't have been involved in an accident if he hadn't done so.

The dark haired man stood up at that time, leaving the two girls to themselves, and introduced himself as Cameron, the owner of the English pub on the west side of town, Alice's, and Arthur's employer. "You must be Arthur's friends," he deduced correctly. "I gave him employment; that way, he had something to do while he was in town. The girls, Lisa and Victoria, gave him shelter. He couldn't afford to go to a hotel, but I'm assuming he had the money to do so."

Gilbert nodded to show that he understood - as the German was far from approving Arthur's actions - and to thank the older man for sharing information. He then replied, answering the questions that he knew the others would have since Arthur, as always, told his new friends little about himself, "He didn't want to use his credit card. His banking account would be monitored, and they would have used that to track him down."

"They?" Cameron repeated dubiously.

"His family," the albino answered darkly, "and even his friends... He didn't say anything to us - just got up and disappeared. He does that a lot on the two weeks we have off school for winter holidays, but usually only a little bit each day. He's never been gone for three consecutive days before."

Victoria sniffed once and remarked haughtily, "Some friends you are! You didn't even look for him until three days later!"

"We have," Francis snapped bitterly, "always been looking out for him, and since the start of our vacation, we have always been looking for him to make sure that he didn't get into trouble. Please pardon our negligence, _Mademoiselle_."

"Stop arguing, _amigos_," Antonio spoke up quickly before events could spiral out of control. "We are in a hospital, _sí_?"

Lovino could feel his phone vibrate in his hand and quickly excused himself. As soon as he left his seat, his eyes fell upon the Parisian woman, noting how her visage was distorted with worry and heartbreak, and a conflicted redhead man no older than his late twenties behind her. His shoulders were broad, and his muscles were more than well-built though they were not large like a bodybuilder's. He was marked as a man who did manual labor with multiple scars on the surface of his skin that peeked out of his clothing - his hands, even his face and neck - but his most noticeable traits were the thick eyebrows and the shocking green eyes.

Arthur's brother.

Lovino scrambled out of the room when he felt his phone vibrate again. He answered the call sullenly, "_Pronto, sono Lovino _- "

"Fratello? _You haven't been back all day! Where are you?!_" His brother went off on an Italian tangent, rambling on and on about how worried he and _Nonno_ have been and about how he hadn't ate dinner at home and asking if he had even ate dinner at all and that it was already eleven o'clock at night.

He heard _Nonno_ pry the phone out of Feliciano's hand, taking over and asking Lovino as calmly as he could without sounding nervous or furious or a mixture of both, "_Where are you, Lovino Romano Vargas? It is eleven ten, and you're not home. You didn't call to let us know where you were. Did something happen?_"

In a trembling, shaky breath, Lovino answered, "Art-Arthu-_Artù _is in the hospital, _Nonno_, and i-it's m-my fault..." He swallowed a sob back down his throat, refusing to cry in public, and covered his mouth with his hand to stifle the whimpers that dared to slip past his lips, blinking back tears and willing himself to remain calm. "_Nonno_, h-he's in the emergency room. I-I don't know what to do..."

He heard his grandfather inhale sharply on the other end before sighing and informing his oldest grandson that he would meet him there in the hospital and wait until Lovino was ready to leave. Lovino choked out the address, the syllables a strangled cry, and hung up his phone just as soon as he heard the phone click, ending the call.

He stood outside for a moment longer until the trembling ceased before somberly strolling into the waiting room. The French woman took a seat next to the British girls, and the older Kirkland leaned against the wall in front of her. The three Bad Friends were glaring at the redhead as discreetly as possible, and Cameron was constantly checking the time on his phone. Lovino settled in the seat next to Antonio. Everyone was silent, and everything was still. It would stay that way until the operation finished. When Lovino's grandfather arrived, he quietly occupied the spot next to Lovino and whispered into his grandson's ear, "How long has it been?"

Lovino glanced at the time on his cell phone and replied, "Almost two hours since I got here." His hand was shaking, and no matter how much he willed it to stop, it wouldn't cease and desist. His grandfather noticed and took it within his own hand. He was noticeably calmer than the others in the room. From over fifty years of experience, Romulus Vargas knew that there was nothing they could do but wait in these types of situations. Everyone froze in place yet again.

Another half hour later, the green light above the doors leading into the operation room dimmed, signaling the end of surgery. The automatic doors slid open, and a doctor wearing blood stained scrubs stepped into the waiting area. He pulled down his procedure mask with gloveless hands, having taken them off his hands earlier after finishing the stitches, and gave everyone a gentle, comforting smile.

"How is he?" the French woman blurted out immediately, shooting onto her feet. "Will he be okay? Oh, what happened?"

"According to witness reports, a sedan hit him from behind when it was braking," the doctor informed her politely, "and he flew all across the intersection, rolling to a stop, which caused a few of his limbs, mostly his legs, to obtain an almost severe case of 'road rash.' People said that he crawled off the road to safety, which would explain the additional cuts and scrapes all over his body. That, together with the two broken ribs, resulted in great blood loss. He narrowly avoided having his leg entirely crushed by traffic, but it is still fractured - though to a lesser extent than what could have happened. Additionally, his right wrist is sprained from absorbing most of the force. His skull was cracked, but he managed to protect it from complete obliteration. He got off lightly compared to others who were also victims of traffic accidents."

Everyone was wide-eyed with either mortification or astonishment.

"He'll be fine," the doctor continued, "after some rest. We've put his leg into a brace. Depending on his recovery speed, he could get it removed in as little as two weeks, but he really ought to take it easy and rest. The same goes for his ribs; however, it would take even longer for them to heal - maybe for a month or two. Again, it really depends on his recovery speed. Some patients take six weeks; others take eight." He gave a short glance around the room and added, "Since visiting hours are over, I would like to ask for anyone who is not his family to leave the hospital."

"You're kidding!" Gilbert snapped.

"I'm afraid I'm not. I don't make the rules here," the doctor replied glumly, keeping eye contact with the albino and studying him with mild interest. After all, humans with albinism were extremely rare. "It's the hospital's policy, but his family can stay here overnight."

"His family!" Francis spat under his breath. The redhead's eyebrow twitched at the comment, but he said nothing. "We are closer to him than _his family_!" Nevertheless, he stood up and faced the doctor with resilient blue eyes. "At least let us say goodnight to him."

The doctor seemed to consider this before nodding in agreement. "He'll be out shortly," the doctor informed shortly and then stepped back into the operation room. True to his word, in five minutes, Arthur's body was wheeled out of the emergency room on a stretcher. Lovino shot to his feet and reached for Arthur, but the French woman had managed to grasp his hand before him and stroke it tenderly. She pressed a gentle kiss to his hand and cried tears of relief. Lovino stood back, watching forlornly, before his grandfather pulled him away from the scene. He placed his hands comfortingly on Lovino's shoulders, squeezing lightly, and smiled.

"Isn't that great? He survived."

Lovino nodded.

"I'll ready the car out front. Go ahead and say your goodbyes."

With that, his grandfather left the hospital, but Lovino lingered in the background. He watched as Lisa held Victoria from throwing herself on top of Arthur, her "King," with Cameron's help and as Gilbert, Antonio, and Francis whispered goodbye, flicking him in the cheek or on the forehead lightly. The Bad Friends then shuffled out of the waiting area while the nurses and doctors wheeled Arthur to his room. Lovino joined them.

"His fiancée," the Italian heard her ask the doctor, "will be able to stay?"

"Whit _fiancée_?" seethed the older Kirkland in an accent Lovino couldn't identify.

"He tells you nothing!" She harrumphed almost triumphantly and victoriously, condescending the much taller and much bigger man, "I'm not surprised."

"Yes," interjected the doctor, "she will be able to stay."

Gilbert, Francis, and Antonio walked out of the hospital behind him and his grandfather. "'Fiancée,' she says," Francis grumbled, "what a load of bullshit."

"Y-You know her?" Lovino blurted out before he had a chance to control his outburst. He bit his tongue to prevent himself from speaking any more than that and from potentially embarrassing himself.

Francis huffed. "I wish I didn't," he replied. "Insufferable woman. I had the displeasure of meeting her two years ago Christmas day..." He faltered, pain obvious in his features, before finishing his thought "...when she came to retrieve Arthur from my home." Nobody said anything more on the subject. It seemed that she was a taboo topic, and in a way Lovino understood why. He just didn't _know_ why.

Later, when it was well past midnight, Lovino was still awake, unable to rest and put his mind at ease. His thoughts roamed about aimlessly, and he envied his younger brother for having slept so easily. He tried piecing together what he knew. The French woman - Marianne, if he recalled correctly - was at Arthur's apartment that one summer day. He didn't know how often she visited or her relation to Arthur. He knew that Arthur lived in that apartment because he was disowned by his brother, the redhead from earlier that night, but he didn't know why. He knew that Arthur had a benefactor to pay for his living expenses, but he didn't know who was the benefactor exactly. He knew that Arthur lived on the streets for a while before Francis took him into his home, and he learned that Marianne had come to retrieve Arthur.

Who _was_ Marianne? Why did she refer to herself as Arthur's fi-fi - Lovino gulped, struggling with the word and its connotation - _fidanzata_? What happened after that? Who were those two girls - Victoria and Elisabeth - and what was their connection to Arthur? What were they to him? What was he to them? What was Arthur not telling him? What did everyone else know that - apparently - he doesn't? Lovino exhaled shakily, his body trembling lightly, as he realized that what he knew didn't amount to the number of questions he was asking himself.

Lovino turned on his side, rustling the sheets once again. Feliciano moaned in despair as he felt the blanket pull away from his body and tried to curl into the warm fabrics once more. "Ve," he groaned, mumbling tiredly, "_Fratello, andare a dormire già_..."

"_Scusi_," the older Vargas twin grumbled.

There was a momentary silence that Lovino spent glaring at the wall across from him, trying to burn holes into the surface, in sheer frustration. Seeming to sense his brother's agitation, one of the few times Feliciano could read the atmosphere, he asked tentatively, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"About what? There's nothing to talk about, Feli."

Feliciano seemed hesitant in replying but, nevertheless, brought himself to answer shortly, "About Arthur Kirkland."

"Chigi! It's nothing, Feli."

"If it's nothing, then go to bed already, _Fratello_."

Lovino pursed his lips together and responded, "Do... Do you think he'll be okay?"

"Ve, you know him best, _Fratello_. Is he going to be okay?"

Lovino clicked his tongue. "Chigi! Like hell I know him best! I don't know shit about him, the bastard!"

Feliciano was quiet. "I don't think what you have is a healthy relationship, ve," the younger brother remarked honestly, shying under the covers as though to hide from his brother's potential rage, "if you really don't know anything about him."

The older twin grimaced. "What? Are you going to tell me to break up with him or something?" he snapped impatiently.

"_Sì_," Feliciano muttered, "I was, but it would have made you upset."

Lovino huffed. "Don't worry about it, _idiota_. We... We weren't together anyway." Before Feliciano could touch on that subject, Lovino added hastily, "What made you think that I knew him the _best_ anyway?"

"Ve... From that day you yelled at me and Ludwig."

Rolling his eyes, the older brother remarked, "I always yell at you two."

"But it was different that day!" Feliciano argued. "You were yelling about _Artù_!" The name rolled off his tongue and slipped past his lips without a second thought. "After he was arrested by the policemen! When we were at school! I could tell from your eyes that you two were close, ve! _Fratello_, you've never stood up for anyone before, including yourself, yet you were sticking up for Artù! You've never ever done that before!"

Lovino could feel the heat crawl up his neck and was thankful to the darkness of the room and the fact that his back was turned to his younger brother. "Chi-_chigi_! S-Sh-Shut up, Feli! Go back to bed!"

"Ve, _Fratello_, you should go visit him tomorrow..."

"I don't need you telling me that, _stupido_!"

* * *

Glossy green eyes fluttered open to meet with a blank white ceiling. It didn't look like the ceiling of the flat or the ceiling of Lisa and Victoria's flat. It didn't even look like the ceiling of Alice's or Gilbert's home or Francis' home. He inhaled deeply, taking to drag in a breath, before wincing in pain as a shock bolted through his chest. His eyes fell to his surroundings, finding white walls, white furniture, and - his heart stopped in panic - Marianne sitting at his side, resting on her crossed arms atop the hospital bed, one of her hands clutching his own. At the closed door, he found Alistair leaning against the wall with his eyes closed.

Marianne and Alistair? Something bad must have happened, but, still, he had to get back to Lovino. He kept him waiting, after all, and that wasn't a very gentlemanly thing to do.

Easing his hand out of Marianne's grasp, Arthur caught sight of the attachments to his body. He thereby yanked the IV drip from his arm and ripped the respiratory mask from his face. He swung one leg over the side of the bed before noticing that his other leg was wrapped in a dark brace. Well, _shit_. Arthur grimaced as he pulled his injured left leg carefully off the bed and focused his weight entirely on his right leg, dragging the limp limb behind him as he hobbled to the door.

"Whaur th' fuck dae ye think yoo're gonnae?"

"Fuck off, I 'ave a date," Arthur snapped.

"Dressed loch 'at?" the redhead retorted curtly, arching a thick eyebrow above his deep green eyes. The blond glanced at his attire for a moment and found that he was dressed in a plain medical gown that was a shade of sickly pale green. His arms were still crossed as he shifted in front of the door, blocking Arthur's exit. "Yoo're nae gonnae anywhaur, lad. Sit yerself doon an' rest. There's naethin' ye can dae abit tois broken ribs an' a dud leg," the older Kirkland remarked in a chastising tone. "Yoo're gonnae be in th' hospital fur a while. They want tae rin tests an' check ups ur whatever. Be patient."

"Try an' stop me," the blond spat bitterly, narrowing his eyes in suspicion as he scrutinised his own brother. He began to breathe heavily from the incoming anger. He tried to ignore the sharp pains stabbing at his chest, flinching only once and hoping that Alistair hadn't noticed, and blinked back searing tears of agony. "You've never acted loike a brother before. Why start na? Get lost, why daan't ya?"

"Loch hell Aam gonnae raise a hain against th' sickly an' injured," Alistair seethed. Unfortunately, his older brother had noticed the faint contortions on his visage and knew that Arthur was, no matter what, bluffing from that point onwards. Thus, the redhead took one step forward, and when Arthur didn't back away - standing his ground - he took another and another. Before Arthur could react, however, Alistair swept his brother off the floor, making sure not to bend the injured leg at an awkward angle and not to place too much pressure on Arthur's chest, and carried him like a bride (since he couldn't carry him like a child. The lad was too big for that now, and he was injured. Alistair didn't want to risk breaking another rib or dislocating them entirely). The English boy growled under his breath, trying to shove his brother away, but only earned himself a warning, "Ye best stop 'at. Aam gonnae drop ya."

Marianne roused from her sleep, stretching like a cat, as she mumbled, "_Qu'est-ce que se passe, Arthur_?" When she found that her darling was no longer on the bed, she shrilled in fright, whipping to face Alistair, and began to shriek in blind fury at the sight of the two brothers, "_Qu'est-ce que tu fais, tu Brute?! Lâche lui! Lâche lui, je dis, maintenant! Arthur est blessé!_"

"Calm yerself, Mary Ann!" Alistair snapped as he - gently, or so he tried - dropped Arthur onto his ass on top of the hospital mattress. "Th' idiot tried tae escape is all! Aam puttin' heem back tae bed, all right?"

She huffed indignantly, glaring at Alistair, before calling for the nurse. They couldn't do anything about the IV drip now that it was contaminated, but they could keep an eye on Arthur now that he was up and moving. In the meanwhile, the doctor could come by and deliver his orders himself because it was obvious Arthur wouldn't listen to _them_. Seating herself at his bedside, Marianne grasped Arthur's pale hands and rubbed them comfortingly though she knew that the notion meant relatively little to Arthur now. He was practically immune to her ministrations now that he had gotten himself a lovely little Italian lover. She wondered just when had her spell broken, her charm lost, her enchantment vanquished. Was it too late to cast another one?

She admonished herself for the silly thought.

Arthur would never love her like a lover. He cared for her. He loved her, but he didn't love her at the same time. They could no longer lick each other's wounds, for Arthur had somehow become so strong.

"Yew ought ter get back ter work na," Arthur mentioned softly, returning her hold gently, with a warm smile. It wasn't the smile of a lover. It was the boyish smile of a little brother. "I wouldn't wan' your business ter suffer 'cause ov me."

"Conceited little boy," she muttered playfully. "Do you think you're that important?" The question was rhetorical. She knew that he was important to her. They probably both did. If he hadn't, then how would he explain the luxurious flat she offered him? How would he explain all that she's done? She stood up and pressed a kiss on the top of his head. "_D'accord, mon cher_," she chirped in a teasing lilt. "_Je vais retourner à Paris! Au revoir!_" Stand up for me. Chase after me. Beg me to stay. Tell me that you want me here.

But nothing. Arthur remained in the hospital bed, smiling that boyish grin of his. "_Bon voyage, Marianne,_" he returned. She smiled. Ah, the French woman mused, so this is how it ends. Well, it wasn't like she needed a man anyway - just someone to keep her on her toes. Arthur was perfect. He was lovely, gorgeous, sexy, playful, and a gentleman. He was just like her. He was perfect in every which way, but it seemed that he will never be hers - not fully, not completely, not entirely. She gave him a finger wave before disappearing out the door, planning to make a reappearance perhaps in January or March. He would be graduating soon anyway.

Alistair, on the other hand, was rooted to the floor. Glowering at his brother, he snapped in perfect, clear, and unaccented English, "Are you still seeing that woman?"

"No," Arthur answered shortly. "I never saw 'er in da first place."

"Come back home with us then."

"Not bloody likely," Arthur snapped. "If I come back, then wot? We're just goin' ter argue again an' again, an' someone will get 'urt! I don't wan' that someone ter be Peter! Haven't yew noticed, Al? There's a pattern! A vicious cycle! Someone _always _gets 'urt!" He was running short on breath, and it was getting harder to breathe.

"So then we'll help each other stand back up, Artie!" the Scotsman snapped. "It's time to grow up and move on!"

"You're mad," Arthur mumbled, panting heavily and wincing at the pain, "if you think it'll work out."

"We're all a little mad - including you. It's a Kirkland trait, after all."

Arthur cracked a smile.

Once the nurses moved into the room, followed by Arthur's assigned doctor, a certain Dr Patel who was related to Arthur's classmate, Neeraja Patel, Alistair left with promises of returning for Arthur. After hearing the doctor's orders, they left the blond to rest before his scheduled x-ray, and with nothing to do, surely enough, Arthur lapsed back into sleep. Of course, this didn't last long.

In a matter of a few - maybe one or even two - hours, Victoria leapt onto his body, throwing herself onto his middle and narrowly avoiding his chest, and embraced him whole-heartedly. "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay!" she chirped merrily, peeling herself off the boy and nuzzling him affectionately, pressing his face into her bosom. Considering how the brunette was dressed in a frilled white miniskirt, a dusty pink woven blouse that was nearly transparent (Arthur could make out the faint outline of a singlet), and heeled suede boots with her typical black ribbons in her hair, the scene was almost scandalous.

The blond flushed at her actions, and he could faintly see Lisa shaking her head in disapproval - or disappointment, it was difficult to differentiate - at the pair. Lisa, as always, was dressed in a more conserved manner. She wore a large white t-shirt - custom cut so that the neckline was lower, resulting in an off-shoulder appearance - with a Union Jack design. The t-shirt fell to the middle of her thighs, nearly covering her frayed black shorts, meeting with the black and white striped stockings. Her feet were covered with black booties and her wrists with fashionable bracelets. Her usual wire glasses were pushed up the bridge of her nose, and on top of her head was a black fedora with a pinstriped band. His fellow musicians dropped off his bass guitar and his sports bag, assuming that he would be returning to his home soon after recovering, before making him promise and swear to come visit them and play again - at least for tea and biscuits.

Cameron soon joined the girls in their visit, remarking about how Arthur's bike was almost entirely demolished. With a smile, however, he mentioned that he was glad to see that Arthur was well and that he would look forward to the day Arthur would seek employment with him again. He was a joy to have around the pub.

The group of three left when Lisa and Victoria had classes to attend, and Cameron had to run some errands for the pub. At the nurse's insistence, Arthur replaced the respiratory mask over his nose and mouth, slowly falling asleep yet again. He thought it was ridiculous that he needed help breathing, but when his body defied him with yet another lacerating jab in his chest, he relented to using the ventilator.

What time would he need to be at the x-ray again? Then again, did it even matter? The nurses would come fetch him anyway. Let's see... He had woken up at ten to Marianne and Alistair, then napped until two when Lisa and Victoria and Cameron had visited, and it was... It was almost four now. Bloody hell, time flew by fast, and he was still exhausted? Arthur yawned. Lovino would be getting off work soon. He hoped the little ankle-biter wouldn't be too infuriated with him though - in Arthur's opinion - he had a legitimate excuse.

He wondered if Lovino would even want to see him after that fall-out they had during the Winter Festival. Arthur supposed it was his fault for the misunderstanding. After all, Lovino knew nothing about Marianne, and Arthur should have pushed her away. It was pathetic, but the Briton had a soft spot for the French woman. Despite his lack of faith in spirituality and religion and all, Marianne had easily persuaded him long ago that they were kindred spirits, but that was all they ever were and ever would be. They both craved touch and warmth and comfort, but they never did anything more than licking festering wounds.

Lovino, on the other hand, was earthly. There was so much about the Italian that set Arthur on edge because, at any given moment, he would burst with colours. It was beautiful. He was always simmering with heat and passion, always shining brightly, and always so radiant, yet he was modest in a strange sense. He shied away from the attention once someone had noticed him, flushing crimson scarlet, positively _glowing_. The git was bloody adorable.

He was so unlike Marianne that Arthur hadn't even noticed that he had already fallen for the boy. Honestly, Marianne was his type: strong, independent, sexy and beautiful. He could admit that before and even now. Lovino was far from her stature, insecure as he was and is, but there was something about the Italian that appealed to Arthur, compelling the Briton to him. And, God, that _smile_! It was bloody gorgeous! Lovino was actually quite sexy himself and, not to mention, _exotic_... Yes, it was rather erotic, frankly.

The door squeaked open, and Arthur glanced towards his latest guest with half-lidded eyes. His entire body froze when he saw his little ankle-biter peer into the room cautiously before stepping inside. Lovino today was dressed in a loose v-neck underneath a casual button shirt, undone with a ruby coloured cotton tie, blue denim jeans, and his usual Armani boots. The Italian shuffled nervously towards him, pursing his lips and fiddling with his fingers. His hazel eyes meekly drifted over Arthur's form and stiffened, the eyes crystallising with tears. "_Mi dispiace tanto_..." he whispered breathlessly. His tanned hands reached for Arthur's, but they stopped halfway in their journey. The Italian visibly gulped, anxious, wondering if he even had the right to touch him.

Arthur, on the other hand, decided to take matters into his own hands. Sighing, and thereby fogging the surface of his face mask with the moisture, the blond lifted a single hand and gestured with his forefinger for the brunet to approach him while watching the younger boy through half-lidded eyes. Lovino froze in place yet again but obligingly took tiny baby steps to the side of the bed. Arthur shuffled aside, wincing slightly as he felt his chest ache from the movement and making a mental note to remind the nurse to provide him with some painkillers (stupid ribs), and patted the spot beside him. Lovino bit his tongue to prevent himself from saying something stupid. The Italian sat on top of the bed, and Arthur opened his eyes fully - only to roll them in slight irritation - before pulling Lovino down by the hand. The boy yelped in surprise as Arthur pressed him to his shoulder, wrapping a single arm around him, and began stroking his hair.

Lovino blinked in mild confusion as he observed Arthur's features. The blond stared at him adoringly, only wanting his company, the corners of his lips turned upwards in a smile. He mouthed something that fogged up the mask, and while Lovino wasn't good at lip-reading, he could faintly make out the words.

"You git."

Resting his head shyly against Arthur's shoulder, Lovino heard the blond mutter something that was further muffled by his face mask. Straining his ears, he discerned the words, "It's not your fault," and began to tear up. He wildly rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hands before Arthur took them in his own bandaged hand, hiding the faint bruises, and set them aside. Cupping Lovino's face with his free hand, the other still lingering around the small of his back, he wiped away the tears with his thumb. "It's not your fault," he repeated, removing the face mask. Lovino's eyes widened at the action, and he nearly protested if it weren't for Arthur speaking yet again, "I'm sorry for not being able to have met you as arranged."

"B-Bastard!" Lovino cried, the tears rolling down his cheeks like crystal marbles, dripping off his chin like glass fragments, and dissipating onto the white sheets. "I-It's not your fault, dammit!"

Arthur smiled. "Then we're even," he chirped, pressing a kiss on top of Lovino's head.

"Chigi! Put... Put that thing back on, bastard. You're going to get sick or something!" He blushed when Arthur raised an inquiring eyebrow and gave him a humoured smirk. "I-I don't know what will happen, okay?!"

Arthur chuckled. "It's just breathing support," he assured Lovino. "I broke my ribs - " Upon seeing Lovino's face pale, he rephrased his words, " - well, my ribs are broken because of the accident, not me or you, all right? _Anyway_, it hurts to breathe, but it should be fine if I take it easy and swallow some painkillers. Doctor says it'll take six to eight weeks to recover. I've got to get an x-ray done this evening just to be sure the damage doesn't cause any other complications - like kidney failure or liver damage or whatever." Lovino was noticeably pale now, and Arthur laughed even harder than earlier before immediately stopping. Ouch. "Look, Lovino, I'm fine, really. Does it look like I'll have failed kidneys or damaged liver?"

Lovino flushed. "Just listen to the doctor and keep that thing on."

"No," Arthur replied defiantly, frowning, "because I want to talk to you."

"C-Chigi!" he squeaked, flush deepening to a darker red.

"We need to talk, Lovino," Arthur stated firmly. When the Italian began shrinking under his stare, he softened his gaze. "I... I need to tell you a bit - well, _a lot_, actually - about me. It's... It's about what you saw at the Winter Festival - about me and Marianne and my family. I-It's a rather twisted story."

Lovino's heart stopped for a moment, skipping a single beat, before he nodded his head, giving Arthur permission to continue.

"You know about me being illegitimate, right? And you know that I was disowned... But you... You don't know how, so I guess... I'll start a few months back from when that happened. In spring. That's... That's when everything began, if I remember correctly."

Arthur took a deep breath before he began his story,

"I was fifteen, and she was almost eighteen. We met on the rooftop of the school. I didn't have a key back then, so I had to pick the lock. On the other hand, Marianne had the key in her possession. It was her last day, and the two of us had similar ideas. She wanted to see the Academy for the last time before attending university, and I wanted to see the Academy for the first time before my first day. She was an exceptional student, bright and intelligent, not to mention beautiful, so she was idolised by the majority of the student population. If she had a single flaw, it would be the fact that she was - err - _argumentative_, to say the least, and quite narcissistic. Because of those traits, she was known as the _Lionne__ Rampante de France_, the Rampant Lioness of France, and I ended up inheriting her title after she graduated. Nobody but me knows about that now - not that it even bloody matters. I've practically butchered the title of 'Lion' by now.

"Marianne was acquainted with my brother, who used to attend the same school as her. The two of them got along fairly well when they weren't arguing; they used to get along, I mean to say. She was surprised when he suddenly quit school, but she understood. I used to see her only once or twice around the neighbourhood when she and Alistair ran into each other, so we were on fairly good terms. We didn't hate each other, but we didn't even know if we liked each other back then.

"In a way, we _clicked_ on that rooftop - at that very moment. I don't believe much in reincarnation or damnation or red strings or whatever, but I knew and she knew that we... We just clicked. There's no other way to explain it. We got along - well, no, probably more than that - bloody hell, we _understood _each other. Maybe it was because Marianne lost her mum as well; I don't know. I just knew that I've never had that before - understanding, that is. Alistair used to push me around because I was a 'love child,' and Seamus joined in the action so that he wouldn't be left out. Owain just never fought or protected me, and Peter was too young to understand anything. I didn't have that kind of understanding from another person. She was the first one."

Arthur noticed that Lovino was avoiding eye contact now. He grasped the younger boy's hand and kissed it gently, holding it tightly and trying to lift the brunet's spirits.

"That of all went to bloody Hell though."


	29. Chapter 29 - Christmas

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Christmas with the Vargas Family**

"I've told you once about how my brother began dating someone, right? And then about how we argued and had a fall-out? Well, I'm pretty sure you already figured out that it's not the whole story." The hold on his hand tightened in a show of discomfort, but before Lovino assured Arthur that he didn't have to talk, the Briton already continued with his story,

"The person that Alistair was dating at the time was Marianne. It started some time in April; they officially announced it on the twenty-third though, which was a bit of a low blow for me. Honestly, I was rather attracted to her; we were like magnets in a sense. But, now that I think about it, it was probably only because Marianne offered comfort. I was bloody naive and desperate for some attention, but it was more like... _like a drug_. Ever since my mother passed away, I've never had anyone offer me affection like that before. I wanted to be cared for, to feel like I was wanted. Even the girlfriends I've had before meeting Marianne weren't like that; they were cute but nothing I wanted to last. They didn't quite understand, and there was very little connection. Those relationships weren't serious, not in the sense of what Marianne had promised me. I had _vied _for her attention, and she adored it.

"She said that 'the boys needed a mother figure' when she and Alistair came clean, but, personally, I think that was just bleedin' barmy. One day we were watching Disney's rendition of _Peter Pan_ with my little brother, Peter, and then she came up with the idea the next day. It was probably just another one of her excuses; she comes up with a good lot of them. That's bloody annoying as well. I knew and know that Marianne didn't actually _like_ Alistair, per se - not in the romantic sense, anyway. She thought of him a bit of a brute, not that I blame her. She confided in me, told me that she only thought of him as a good friend, but Marianne was far from a good friend herself - to both me and Alistair. You don't know why my brother kicked me out of the house, do you? I told you that he got angry, didn't I? Or that he got pissed off at me? Yeah, that was an understatement.

"I slept with Marianne."

Lovino's breath hitched in his throat, but the one who appeared to be even more in shock was Arthur himself. His sickly complexion was now translucent with a faint blue-green, phantasmal tinge. Arthur's free hand was now covering his mouth as his eyes were downcast and face crestfallen as though he would vomit at any given moment, disgusted with himself.

"I-It wasn't even once or twice... Throughout their entire relationship, whenever something went wrong, I was the one she turned to for comfort. At first, it was hugging and kissing, but somehow, things went wrong. We only wanted _comfort_, Lovino. We only wanted to be loved, to be cared for, but we were only licking festering wounds that probably wouldn't ever heal. I thought I loved her, and I thought she loved me. Our relationship was so... _twisted_. There's no other word to describe it. One day, she's playing the role of my mother, the next my sister and friend, and the next my lover. Still, I couldn't deny her every time she came to me. She would whisper that she loves me and everything would be okay. It was like a promise of hope, and I needed more of that. Thus, we continued with that kind of relationship... Until Alistair caught us one morning.

"He threw me out with a pair of pants and trousers and a t-shirt. It was ill-suited for December weather; still, what the bloody hell did he care? I was the godforsaken black sheep of the family, after all. I was a fuck up, a mistake. I should have never existed. He said all of that, and I said even more. I told him that he was inattentive as a brother and as a boyfriend and that it was no wonder why she abandoned him and went to me instead. I said a lot of things that I shouldn't have. We always do that - my brothers and I. Anyway, we fought, and I lost. I always lose against him; the man's probably not even human when it comes to raw strength and sheer power. Marianne tried to reason with him when he closed the door on me, but he wouldn't listen. He was disgusted with me, the bastard son who was like his father.

"I laughed for the longest time at that. My father, who impregnated my mother, was an arsehole, no doubt. My mother, who kept me, was naive. I was - _am_ - a combination of both. I have both their blood in my veins. I was a bastard, a naive one, for thinking that maybe I had a chance at love. I thought that was bloody hilarious at the time.

"For almost a week, I went to school like that. I slept on park benches and showered or brushed my teeth at convenience stores. I didn't have a change of uniform, so I went to school in a t-shirt and jeans. Francis found me doing my homework in a café one day, and that was when he asked me what the bloody hell was going on. So I told him. I figured the Frog wouldn't judge me since he had his share of fuck ups as well.

"Living with the Frog for almost two weeks was one of the worst experiences I ever had. He pestered me like a mother hen, fickle and nagging, but it did bring my moods along, I have to admit. Of course, that's a secret! If I told him that, who knows what ideas he'll have in his mind! I swear that Frog is mad; one day he proposed - err - no, never mind - I don't want to remember." Arthur slapped a hand over his paling face. "I get sick thinking about it."

After recovering from his mild nausea, the Briton resumed his story, "That didn't last long though. Christmas day, Marianne found me. She took me under her wing and gave me an entire flat to myself - under her name, of course - so that Alistair wouldn't find me. She said that he hadn't taken any legal actions against her to spite us, but it was clear that he didn't want to see me for a long time. I believed her. She was the only one person I believed, and it's bloody funny because she's the one person whom I know to lie the most. She told me that she broke up with Alistair and that she had to study abroad in Paris. I knew that she just wanted to give me space though, but a few months later her father died. She had control of the company then. She's a fashion designer, you know? I started seeing her less and less, and I thought then that I had lost everything - my family and my companion." Arthur smiled at Lovino shyly, cheeks pink, before turning away in slight embarrassment. "Then I met you." He inhaled deeply, ignoring the sharp jabs lacerating his chest, and exhaled shakily. His smile turned bitter and remorseful as he remarked, "I'm fucked up."

"You're not fucked up, Arthur," Lovino insisted, grasping Arthur's hand and preventing it from hiding his face. The blond's other arm was wrapped firmly around his waist. "I-It was a lot to take in, dammit, and... I don't get all of it, but... Shit happens."

Arthur laughed lightly, grimacing when his chest was writhing with pain, before leaning against Lovino for support. "All of that, and all you can say is that 'Shit happens'! How eloquent, little ankle-biter!" he mused, smiling. "Well, you're right. Shit happens. I just wanted you to know that - " Arthur's cheeks reddened this time, and Lovino wondered just when the blond had gotten this adorable when he was flustered. Well, Arthur was rarely ever flustered. " - that Marianne and I, we don't have anything - possibly never did - but definitely not any more. We're only kindred spirits. We just understand each other. She'll leave us alone. It's different now. I don't love her romantically, but I do care for her. She's... Well, after hearing all that, it would be disgusting to call her my sister, wouldn't it? But... But she _is_ like me and the other way around."

"Just a little, bastard," Lovino retorted, nudging him lightly, careful to avoid the ribs. "Anyway, it doesn't matter what the hell your relationship was with that woman. I-I-I-I've decided to steal you away from her already! It doesn't matter what the hell she thinks or what anyone else thinks because - " Lovino flushed before straddling Arthur's waist " - I want only you, dammit." He squeaked a shrill "Chigi!" in a mousy manner before burying his red face into his hands. "What the fuck are you making me say?!"

Arthur took hold of Lovino's hands, peeling them away from his face, and offered a timid smile. "Hey," he greeted bemusedly.

"Hey, yourself, stupid." Lovino snorted, averting his eyes away from Arthur's pink face. "What 'Hey'?"

The Briton pulled Lovino forward and drowned him within a sweet kiss. Lovino moaned in approval, returning the contact vigorously, until Arthur pulled away, gasping in pain, clutching his broken ribs. "Blimey," he cursed himself and his luck, "six to eight weeks like this? You've got to be kidding."

Lovino pecked his lips succinctly, and Arthur yearned to prolong the kiss. "You'll be okay, bastard," Lovino whispered before pressing a kiss to Arthur's forehead shyly. "You always are."

There was a light knock on the door, and both boys turned, surprised, to find a nurse cowering behind her clipboard and blatantly avoiding eye contact. "M-Mr. Kirkland," she stammered, "y-your x-x-ray appointment...?"

Oh. So that was when his appointment was. Maybe he really had ought to remember that.

"Right," Arthur responded shortly.

Lovino scrambled off his lover and gave a curt greeting to the nurse, who spared him a gentle smile.

* * *

"Why did she rent a flat on the top floor again?" Arthur grumbled as he wheeled himself in the direction of the lift begrudgingly. It was difficult enough boarding the bus and being treated like he was disabled or handicapped, which he was for the moment, but having to bother other people to help him get off the bus... It was embarrassing! Although he was happy to see his beloved pets again, he wasn't sure if he even had the strength to make it to the flat any more.

"Oh, I've got you!" Miss Jane exclaimed the moment she saw him enter the building, struggling to open the door from his seat, as she pulled open the door and then took hold of the handles on the back of the wheelchair. Since Arthur injured his ribs as well as his foot, Alistair was adamant against the use of crutches and preferred that Arthur was seated in a wheelchair until his cast would be removed. Naturally, the blond was irritated with his older brother's decision - without even telling him! - but the redhead refused to discharge him from the hospital otherwise. At least Alistair allowed him to remain in the penthouse - _for now_. Miss Jane pushed him into the direction of the lift. "Hope you have a speedy recovery, Mr. Kirkland!"

"Thank you, Miss Jane," responded the Briton amiably. "How have Winston and Elizabeth been?"

"_Mademoiselle _Bourgeois has been most attentive to them," Miss Jane replied with a smile. She disappeared behind the closing pair of metal doors, and Arthur had forgotten to ask her if she could take Winston out on walks now that he was unable to do so. Well, he supposed he could ring up the front desk once he got back to the flat. Unfortunately, Arthur had mistaken Miss Jane's smile as one of relief and good fortune or health and not one of mirth and excitement.

The moment Arthur returned to the flat, he unlocked the door after fiddling with his keys and the lock. Wheeling himself into the front corridor, Arthur struggled to close the door behind him without having to twist his front and possibly cause discomfort to his ribs. When he decided that it might be for the best to stand on his good leg for a brief moment, Winston shot from the living room (where a hissed "Chigi!" rang through the flat) and leapt onto him, knocking the blond onto his arse. Arthur cursed at first, glaring at his bulldog, before softening and laughing when Winston continued to lap at the side of his face. He stroked the area between Winston's ears, wincing slightly when the dog pressed against his chest.

Footsteps echoed against the presumably empty flat before growing louder and louder. Arthur raised his head to find Lovino staring at him with glowing red cheeks and timid hazel eyes. The brunet was holding Arthur's ginger Scottish Fold in his arms. Elizabeth was meowing lightly, pawing at Lovino's arms to release her. Upon noticing Arthur sprawled on the floor, the cat took it upon herself to wiggle out of Lovino's hold, making the latter gasp, and nuzzling Arthur's leg affectionately. The eyes of his beloved averted to the side in embarrassment. "_B-Benvenuti a casa, mio Cuordileone_," he muttered under his breath, nearly inaudible, but Arthur's ears managed to pick up the whispered Italian endearments.

"Hey," Arthur greeted breathlessly with a sheepish smile, "do you mind helping me out some? I'm in a bit of a bind."

Lovino rolled his eyes before prying the pets off their owner and helping Arthur back onto his wheelchair. Crossing behind the blond, he closed the door behind him before wheeling Arthur into the living room. "Do you want something, bastard?" Lovino asked roughly, masking his shyness. "I... I made some soup, b-but you can't have any alcohol, dammit! The doctor said it could fuck up your recovery rate, got it, bastard?!"

Arthur chortled and nodded his head. "Yes, I understand, darling," he responded teasingly - just to rile up Lovino. Yes, that's all that it was. It wasn't like the way they were reminded him of some married couple or anything and that he wanted it to stay like that. At any rate, he derived great pleasure from the redness tingeing Lovino's cheeks. "So what are you doing here? How did you get in?"

"_Signorina _Jane gave me a fucking spare key, dammit," Lovino replied shortly, blatantly avoiding all eye contact with the blond as he marched into the kitchen. He blurted out hurriedly, just trying to get the words past his lips so he didn't have to say them any more than he had to do so, "I'm going to stay here until you can walk, _capito_? We're going to spend Christmas together. I already have my bags unpacked, so you can't kick me out."

"Unpacked? But there's not a guest - "

"Chigi!" Lovino snapped from the kitchen. "I'm staying in _your _fucking room, bastard! Got a problem with that?! Shut up!"

Oh.

Arthur's chest flooded with inexplicable joy and delight before he realised that Marianne kept her clothes in the dressers and in the closet. A sense of dread pooled in his stomach. Had Lovino seen her clothes? How should he even address that? Arthur bit his lip. Should he even bring up that subject? That aside, how was he supposed to do his Christmas shopping with Lovino looming over his shoulder? Maybe he could do it online? No, what if there was a mistake in the order? Or what if the present didn't arrive on time?

Bollocks.

_Snap!_

Arthur blinked once, twice, before he found himself staring at Lovino's hand. The Italian had just snapped his fingers, breaking the blond out of his thoughts, with the slightest hint of irritation. "Really, what the hell can you be thinking about all this time?" the brunet murmured. He set a bowl of soup on the coffee table, the earthenware clinking lightly.

You, Arthur answered mentally before replying, "A certain little ankle-biter who never fails to surprise me yet again with all of his new tricks." Lovino blushed. Arthur smirked. "Is your grandfather fine with all of this?" the blond inquired curiously, genuinely concerned. "I wouldn't want to upset him."

"The only one who threw a fit was my idiot brother Feliciano," Lovino muttered. "_Nonno_ was fine with it. He probably thought that you couldn't hurt me while in a wheelchair."

"I wouldn't ever _want_ to _hurt _you," Arthur remarked pointedly.

Lovino smiled at that. "I know, bastard," the brunet replied. His hazel eyes sparked with a sudden realisation, and the Italian didn't fail to mention, "Which is why you're spending Christmas with me and my family."

Damn, Arthur cursed his luck, I thought it would have been just the two of us.

Later that night in his bedroom, Arthur dug through his drawers and was immensely relieved to see that Marianne had packed her items. She had left a note reading, "_Ne gâche pas! Mais je vais attendre pour toi si tu le fais_!" though. It made Arthur crack a smile. There really wouldn't be any bad blood between them then.

He pulled out a pair of joggers into which to change while Lovino was in the bathroom. Limping into the front corridor, he pressed for the front desk. "Miss Jane," Arthur whispered into the speaker as soon as he heard Lovino's shower water run, "I need your help. I need to go buy a Christmas present, but I can't do that with - "

"Understood, Mr. Kirkland!" Miss Jane replied merrily. "I'll have Mr. Vargas walk Winston early morning tomorrow, and then we'll take you to wherever you need to go!"

* * *

"Do you always roll around in bed this much, git?" Arthur inquired as he heard Lovino shuffle in the sheets beside him. The blond turned his head and found that his lover had his back turned to him. "Or are you always this bloody restless?"

"Nn," was the only response the Briton received. Arthur snorted and rolled his eyes before stretching out his arm and slinking it underneath Lovino's waist, pulling the smaller boy to his torso. Lovino yelped in surprise but didn't struggle against Arthur. The pallor of his face was noticeably glowing red rather deliciously now, and the young Englishman couldn't fight a smile off his lips. When Lovino glanced at those tender eyes, his heart stilled, and the Italian directed his gaze to anywhere but Arthur's expressive eyes. Instead, he was currently studying the patterns of the Tudor rose on his chest. Evidently, the older boy slept bare-chested, which made Lovino, dressed in only a pale blue tank and a pair of white boxer briefs, even more flustered. Lovino's eyes strayed lower in a futile attempt to avoid locking gazes with his lover, but his heart soon plummeted to his toes when the younger boy laid eyes on the stitches sewed into Arthur's flesh. His fingers traced them lightly, his touch barely ghosting the stitches, as he asked, "Does it hurt?"

"Sometimes, yes," Arthur answered, "but I take my pills occasionally. You have nothing to worry about, Lovino. I swear to it."

Lovino shook his head. "If I hadn't called and told you to come - "

"I wanted to see you anyway," Arthur insisted, "so enough of that, you miserable twit. What's done is done. I'm fine now. I'm still alive and breathing, and you're right in front of me. I want it to stay that way." There was a momentary lapse of silence. The Briton brought himself to ask, "Is that why you can't sleep?"

Lovino's cheeks burned like the flames of a candle as their eyes met for a split second. The Italian shook his head then as he returned to hiding away shyly. "N-Not that," he muttered.

"Then what's eating you, Lovino?"

He whined a bit, avoiding all eye contact once more, before an idea dawned upon Arthur. He took Lovino's hand gently, bringing it upwards to rest upon the Tudor rose, and pressed the palm flat against his chest, right above where his racing heart should be.

"You're not the only one nervous," Arthur remarked. This time, his green eyes strayed away from Lovino's awed and inquisitive gaze. "I said that I didn't want to hurt you, and I don't... but I don't know if it can stay that way - with how you're so close to me and everything. I want to mark you and make you mine, only mine and mine only, but I don't want to scare you at the same time because I want to keep you by my side - always." Blushing, he added, "It's the first time I've ever felt this way; all of this is new to me. I don't know how to deal with it."

Lovino leaned closer into his warmth, mumbling under his breath, "Me too, Arthur..." His words were inaudible, and he was partially glad. He didn't want to be caught saying something so embarrassing.

"I won't do anything to you if you don't want it," Arthur continued, stroking Lovino's hair. "I'll restrain myself - promise." He was oblivious to the fact that Lovino was already falling asleep. "I... I love you, Lovino." Glancing down, he saw that the Italian's eyes were shut in the lighter stages of sleep. Scowling, he grumbled rather indignantly, "You git."

* * *

"Damned leg," Arthur mumbled as he wheeled himself out of the lift. It took even longer to just leave the bloody flat than it usually did, and he was losing time with every time he spent trying to close the ruddy door. As soon as the metal doors parted, Miss Jane blinked at the sight of a scowling Arthur. His foul mood soon dissipated, replaced by a confusion that mirrored Miss Jane's. "Good morning, Miss Jane."

"Oh, Mr. Kirkland! I thought I was coming to retrieve you!" the receptionist exclaimed with surprise. She gave him a sheepish smile before politely taking reign of his wheelchair. They both waved goodbye to her colleague, a pretty little Asian girl who had dyed her hair a golden blonde with honey highlights and caramel lowlights. Evidently, she was still a college student, working part-time to help pay her tuition.

The two of them boarded a bus to the city centre, where a strip of boutiques were located on 12th Avenue and 9th Street. As soon as they were back on the pavement, Miss Jane inquired, "So where are we heading?"

"Jewellery shop," Arthur answered shortly. Upon seeing the devious grin stretch across Miss Jane's lips, the blond hastily added, "I can go by myself, Miss Jane. Thanks for escorting me here, but, er, your assistance is no longer required."

"Oh, don't be shy! Show me what you're getting Lovino!"

* * *

Just hours before the twenty-fifth, Lovino woke up especially early, dressed in a pair of dark trousers with a matching blazer, left unbuttoned over an ivory dress shirt. He shrugged on a tan winter coat and wrapped a snug knit scarf around his neck fashionably. He dug through the dressers and the closet to fish out a fitting suit for Arthur before tossing a pair of gray slacks at the sleeping blond with a darker gray waistcoat and a white dress shirt. Lovino pulled out a red checked tie and hurled that at Arthur as well so he could continue raiding the blond's closet. When he finally found the blazer that matched his trousers, he chucked that on top of Arthur's rising head. "Hurry up and get dressed, bastard," he ordered firmly, crossing his arms.

Arthur growled lowly, a scowl set on his lips, as he remarked, "Why would I get dressed just because you told me to? I mean, you haven't even explained anything at all! Just a few days ago, you dropped, 'We're spending Christmas with my family,' on me without so much of an explanation! And what's this? A suit? Bloody hell, where are we going? It's almost midnight!"

"Christmas Mass!" Lovino answered shortly, wrinkling his nose. "Midnight Mass, to be accurate."

"M-M-_Mass_?" Arthur repeated as his face paled. "L-L-Like in a c-church?"

"Well, where else would you go - ?" The Italian stopped in the middle of his snide remark as another brilliant realization dawned upon him, explaining Arthur's strange reaction. Concern stretched across Lovino's face. "A-Are you atheist or some shit? You don't have to go if that's the case. I mean, it doesn't really bother me, but _Nonno_ is pretty religious..."

"N-No, not quite atheist, rather, just non-religious. My mother was Catholic, and I hear my father might have been Protestant. I don't really bother with that any more. I mean, God is good and grace, I suppose," Arthur responded shortly with mild panic in his voice, "but - err - I'm not going to disintegrate or anything on site, right?"

Lovino froze.

What the fuck?

Lovino burst out laughing as Arthur hid his reddened face behind his hands. "Don't laugh!" the blond cried. "I know it sounds stupid, but I always get the feeling that I've been barred from places of religious worship! I can't step even a foot _near_ them - much less _inside_ - because I feel like God would hurl a lightning bolt at me if I entered one of His houses!"

Lovino's laughter died when he considered that the issue was probably more grave than he had originally thought. Guilt shamed the younger boy into approaching his lover tentatively. He pried Arthur's hands away from his embarrassed - no, more shamed - face and asked, "What are you talking about, bastard? Why would you feel that way?"

Arthur turned his head away, green eyes wavering, as he confessed under his breath, "Look at me, Lovino. I'm a bastard child with dirty blood and a foul temper, and I slept with my brother's girlfriend. I've fucked up families, and I've ruined relationship. I'm a terrible person." He sighed. "There's no way that even God could forgive a person like me."

Lovino clicked his tongue and then forced Arthur to look at him as he snapped, "Like hell you're a terrible person, dammit! You're the kindest person I've ever met! I _know_ that! _Everyone _knows that! You've never done a single selfish thing! You always put others before yourself even if you don't act like it! Like that one time you threw that little surprise for that shy bastard - Matthew - or that one time you spent a night in jail for Michelle and that perverted bastard! Just because you messed up doesn't mean that you're a fucking asshole! Everyone makes mistakes, goddammit! You're an idiot if you think that you're a terrible person that way! It's not like you did it on purpose, right? So stop putting yourself down! If you feel guilty or shame, that means you still have a conscience and a good heart!" Panting heavily, Lovino caught himself acting in the heat of the moment and stopped, flushing with embarrassment. "You're a good person, and I've always vouched on that, dammit. I fought against my grandfather and my brother on _your_ side, you fucking jerk, so don't tell me that I made a mistake, _capito_? It's got nothing to do with God or forgiveness or repentance, you bastard. I believe in you. I... I trust you, dammit."

Arthur stared at Lovino, momentarily shocked, before breaking into chuckles. The younger boy reddened and ducked his head, trying to hide the blush on his cheeks, before Arthur ran his fingers through Lovino's perfectly tamed hair. "And I believe you, little ankle-biter," the blond mused, pecking the top of his head affectionately. "I'll... I'll step on church grounds for you."

Lovino nodded mutely, keeping his eyes downcast, before muttering, "I forgot to tell you that _Nonno_ and Feliciano are going to be here soon." He glanced at the clock at Arthur's bedside and mentioned, "About half an hour."

Arthur frowned. "If I didn't have a useless leg, I would be done in five minutes," the blond muttered before he swung his right leg over the side of the bed and then heaved his left leg over as well, dragging it to the door with his clothes clenched in his hand. He shuffled through the drawers, pulling out some underwear that Lovino had overlooked, and slipped a small velvet box into his hand discreetly, hiding it from the view of the younger boy,

"Y-You need help, bastard?"

"I should be fine. The bathroom isn't that far away!"

Lovino arched an eyebrow as he heard a clattering of plastic bottles and a loud "Shite!" five minutes later but made no comment. After all, Arthur, as he had said, should be fine. The Italian snorted ungracefully before clicking his tongue in disdain. Shrugging off any worry he may have felt, Lovino proceeded to prepare them breakfast. Humming a seasonal tune quietly as he began to brew them some cappuccinos, spiced with some cinnamon and nutmeg for the holiday season, Lovino nearly forgot that Arthur would have been done with changing by now. Obliviously and contently, Lovino buttered a few slices of toast before cutting them some fresh fruit. He gasped when he felt two arms snake around his waist and a pair of lips press against the bare skin on his neck chastely. The newcomer inhaled deeply, suppressing a wince, and sighed with delirium.

"Smells good," Arthur chirped, resting his forehead against the back of Lovino's head. "You didn't prepare any tea?"

"I-I don't know how to brew tea, bastard," Lovino grunted, "so don't complain. I've only ever had tea when I was sick. Speaking of sick, shouldn't you be off that leg of yours?"

Arthur chuckled and responded, "I'm not putting my weight on it, so it should be fine - hopefully."

"Chigi! Hurry and sit down, you _idiota_!" the Italian snapped. "I'll give you hell if you have to wear that cast longer than what the doctor predicted because you're always trying to walk on your own, dammit!"

"It's such a pain to use the wheelchair though," Arthur mumbled childishly as he seated himself at the kitchen island. "It takes too much time to wheel myself somewhere and to open a bleeding door! You'd think that there'd be a kind-hearted bloke willing to spare five seconds to open a door, but, unfortunately, it seems that no such person exists! It's that bloody diffusion of responsibility shite or the bystander effect at work!"

Lovino snorted. "Poor baby," he remarked dryly. "Let's hope you won't have to be wheeled everywhere when you're gray and senile." The brunet set a plate of fruits and toast in front of Arthur as well as his cup of cappuccino.

"Ha!" Arthur huffed indignantly as he stirred the foamy liquid. Against his better judgement, he inhaled the fresh aroma of espresso, hot and steamed milk, and seasonal spices. Consequently, his ribs began aching again. He smiled at the Christmas tree latte art in the crema before taking a delicate sip, relishing the taste. It was a perfect blend of coffee and milk; Lovino truly did have the tongue of a gourmet. "Thanks for the breakfast, luv," he responded absent-mindedly, oblivious to the reaction he stirred in Lovino, before he merrily devoured his light breakfast. He was now well-adjusted to the fact that Lovino prepared a simple breakfast - usually only with coffee and pastries or bread - instead of a full English breakfast. He wouldn't complain though since everything Lovino made was absolutely delicious. It was definitely much better than anything _he_ could prepare anyway. Whenever he tried making a full breakfast, everything he fried became burnt - including the _eggs_, of all things. At one point, the flat became caked with the smell of soot, smoke, and ashes, and that was when Marianne drew the line and banished him from the kitchen.

As they were putting away the dishes in the sink (well, more Lovino than Arthur), there was rhythmic knocking at the front door. Listening closer, it sounded like the melody of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas." Lovino grimaced at the sound, wiping his wet hands on a dish rag, and commented, "That must be _Nonno_ and Feliciano. I'll get it, bastard. Don't move."

"Yes, dear, of course," Arthur responded sardonically, kicking back on the sectional in the middle of the living room. He relished in the red coat covering Lovino's cheeks with a smirk and watched as the Italian stomped indignantly to the front door with Elizabeth close on his tail. Winston hopped onto his lap, and Arthur greeted his pup lovingly. When he was certain that Lovino was out of his range of vision and out of hearing range, Arthur fingered the velvet box in the pocket of his trousers before slipping it into the larger, more secure pocket of his wool coat sitting at the arm of the sectional.

At the front door, he heard Feliciano coo, "Kitty!" There was a sharp yowl from Elizabeth and a loud, "Chigi!" Arthur chuckled as he heard a string of Italian curses slip past Lovino's lips while Feliciano spoiled Elizabeth with affection. Subsequently, he heard Mr Vargas invite himself inside, marching into the living room. The grandfather appeared before him, chirping, "Artù! How have you been? How are your injuries? _Buon Natale_!"

"Good morning and Merry Christmas, Mr Vargas," Arthur greeted amiably. Could midnight be considered morning?

"Loosen up, _Signor Cucciolo di Leone_!" the eldest Vargas exclaimed as he sat down beside Arthur, dressed in a fashionable Italian suit. He nearly pounded Arthur on the back but thought otherwise. Instead, he repeated his earlier inquiry with genuine concern, "How are your injuries? It's only been two, three days since your release?"

"Three days," Arthur confirmed with a nod before smiling and adding, "I'm indebted to your grandson."

"Nonsense! It's nature - _good nature_ - to care for someone you care about!" Mr Vargas responded wholeheartedly. Feliciano entered the living room then, cradling Elizabeth delicately in his arms, while Lovino walked by his side, scowling.

"What was with the noise, git?" Arthur inquired curiously.

"Feliciano tried chasing after the fucking cat."

"Ve!"

Arthur chuckled. "Well, she _is_ adorable," the Briton boasted, buffing his nails on the fabric of his coat.

"You're acting like you controlled her damn genes," Lovino remarked dryly. He considered this option before dismissing it as quickly as it came. Arthur had told him that he picked up Elizabeth from the streets in the middle of pouring rain; it wasn't like he took charge of her parents' breeding. Besides, it wasn't like the blond would even consider playing the part of a mad scientist either to create the perfect cat.

"You take care of two pets by yourself?" Mr Vargas prodded as he eyed the tubby Winston resting atop Arthur's lap. The elder took care to avoid the fact that Arthur hadn't set up a Christmas tree and that the apartment was practically empty aside from the most basic of furnishing. He knew little of Arthur's past in comparison to Antonio's incessant ramblings about his family, and he worried that his grandson would be getting involved with someone who wasn't a family-oriented person. Arthur was a nice boy though, and he knew that the English boy didn't particularly despise his family from the last time he spoke of them. It seemed to be a somber and solemn topic for him, however.

"Sometimes the landlord or the receptionist looks after them when I'm out for school," Arthur explained, "but most days, yes. They're good company... although _this _one - " the blond glowered at Winston playfully, and the bulldog whined " - is a lazy git. Some days it's hard to get him out of the flat for a walk."

"And then when he's out on a walk, he always gets distracted by the littlest thing," Lovino grumbled. "Indecisive son of a bitch."

"Shh!" Arthur covered Winston's floppy ears as soon as the latter whined at Lovino's tone. "He's sensitive!" The two of them shared a smile before Arthur snatched his wool coat off the sectional and his keys, phone, and wallet off the coffee table. Standing on his good leg, he queried, "Shall we go? I-I must confess that I haven't been to a church since I moved to Hetalia and that I'm not well-versed in the Bible or hymns o-or prayers." He decided to omit the fact that he didn't even know how to pray. He never saw the point, but for today, he would do as Lovino asked. After all, this appeared to be tradition for the Vargas family.

Lovino snorted. "Don't worry about it, bastard. You'll catch on fast," the Italian assured before cuffing him in the shoulder. "Now get off that leg and back on your wheelchair."

The ride to the family's usual church was lively with the Vargas family bickering animatedly about nothing in general. Mr Vargas and Feliciano brought up the fact that they especially missed Lovino's cooking more than once, and the younger twin seemed particularly tolerant of Arthur today. For the Briton, Mass was completely uneventful, filled with stories with which he was vaguely familiar, and much too formal for his liking. However, glancing at Lovino's serious visage, he decided that it wasn't so bad. At least he didn't have to kneel or stand for too long with his leg fucked up.

"Ve, what did you pray for, _Fratello_?" Feliciano asked as soon as they left the church after two or four hours. "I prayed for a merry Christmas and a happy New Year!"

"Chigi!" was Feliciano's only response, along with a completely red Lovino who gave Arthur a fleeting glance. The blond pretended he hadn't noticed the stolen glimpse to give Lovino an ease of mind. However, he couldn't entirely suppress the soft smile on his lips. The elder Vargas then drove them back to the Vargas household, where Arthur promptly collapsed on the couch, much to Mr Vargas' amusement.

"Let him sleep. He's still recovering from the accident," he mentioned before waggling his eyebrows at Lovino. "Better the living room than your rooms, _sì_? What have you two been doing the past nights?"

"_Nonno_!" Lovino hissed. "He's _injured_!"

"So you _do _want to do something with him?"

"_Nonno_!"

"What? I'm just asking if you boys stayed up playing card games or whatever it is teenage boys do nowadays, Roma! What did you think I was asking?"

"Chigi!"

Later, Arthur woke up to the smell of Italian coffee wafting into the room and joined the family for another breakfast before Feliciano was allowed to dive into the cluster of presents at the foot of the gorgeous pine tree in the middle of their living room. Arthur sat on the sofa, smiling as Feliciano unwrapped a wooden easel, a set of paints and brushes, a new sketchbook, and a little pochade box. Lovino, on the other hand, received a heavy cookbook marked with recipes his family wanted to try, which he accepted begrudgingly, as well as a new shirt, designer jeans, and a comfy looking cardigan. The scene reminded him of how they used to celebrate Christmas - though his family was awfully rowdier - and how it was only that one day of the year where they could get along... until two years ago, that is. Christmas had never been the same for him again. Arthur had never bothered to buy a small artificial Christmas tree because the holiday didn't hold the same meaning to him any more.

Suddenly, a small box wrapped in red, white, and green dropped onto Arthur's lap, breaking the blond out of his reverie and reminisce. Lovino scowled deeply, looking away with a flush on his cheeks, and grunted, "For you, bastard." The brunet collapsed onto the spot beside him on the sofa and began fiddling with the hem of his clothes, still avoiding eye contact. He did watch, however, as Arthur's fingers ghosted the smooth, unblemished surface of the wrapping paper before gingerly pulling apart the paper, careful not to make any tearing sound. Lovino didn't make any comment since, judging by the nostalgic expression on Arthur's face, he was thinking of something particularly solemn.

"What the...?" Arthur whispered as he gingerly took a key from the box sceptically. Peering closer, it looked as though it was his motorcycle keys, but they couldn't have been. His bike was done in by the wreck. There was hardly anything left of it, and by the time he remembered it, he realised that he didn't have enough money to repair it _and _buy Lovino's gift. (Like hell he was going to use Marianne's money! He was done with that shite.)

"I had repairs done to your bike, bastard," Lovino muttered. "It's waiting at the parking garage in the usual place. Just don't ride it yet, got it? Not until your leg's all fixed up and your ribs are all better."

"H-How?

"I work, remember?" Lovino remarked. He rubbed his nose uncomfortably, not wanting to admit the real price of having the repairs done. Instead, he explained, "I have a college fund, so I ended up taking a few months' paychecks to pay for it." Upon seeing Arthur's panicked expression, he hurriedly added, "It's fine anyway! I don't even know where I'm going or what I'm going to do!"

Arthur's eyes softened, and he then pulled Lovino into a hug. Lovino allowed him, though he was still shy around his grandfather and his brother, both of whom watched them warmly. Had he recalled, Feliciano would have retracted his disdain towards Arthur in that moment. "Come here, you little git," the blond muttered, choking back his tears. "Thank you so much. I... I have your present right now, but I want to give it to you later. When we're alone." He felt Lovino stiffen and chuckled in amusement. "It's nothing bad, I swear."

* * *

**A/N:** Just clearing things up, Arthur's not quite an atheist. I don't think that he doesn't believe in a higher power since in canon-verse he can communicate with supernatural creatures and the paranormal. I think he knows there are things beyond human explanation. It's just an interpretation, of course.

I also have these chapters pre-written. I finished writing this story about a month or two ago, actually, so, uhm, yeah. Fast updates. There are thirty-four total chapters including the epilogue, so... I'll be finished with this soon.


	30. Chapter 30 - Numbered Days

**Chapter Thirty: Numbered Days**

Soon after putting away Lovino's gifts, Mr Vargas was happy to bring them back to the flat so that they could feed Winston and Elizabeth - only after promising that he and Feliciano would join the two of them for dinner. Arthur set the mail he had retrieved from the front desk onto the coffee table, opting to look at them later, and began to play the messages left on his voicemail that had accumulated over the last few hours while Lovino changed out of his formal attire. Collapsing onto his bed and setting his phone on speaker, Arthur tossed the device to his side as he stripped himself of his coat, setting the velvet box next to his phone, and his blazer. Unbuttoning his waistcoat and loosening his tie, he listened to Gilbert's boastful, "Hey, Artie! _Frohe Weihnachten!_ I hope you're not holed up in your place because of your leg because that wouldn't be awesome at all! You want to celebrate New Years' Eve at my place? You, me, and Mathias can have another drinking contest! Kesesese! You can even bring - uh, what do you call him again? - ah! - your little firecracker! - " _ankle-biter_, Arthur corrected " - Alright, _tschüss_, Artie!"

Then Mathias' amused, "Hey, Arthur! Did you get a call from Gilbert about the drinking contest? I'm game if you are! Oh yeah, before I forget: _Glædelig jul!_ It's been a while since we went drinking, so you better show your face!" played.

"I'm injured, you stupid wankers," Arthur muttered.

"_Joyeux Noël, Rosbif_! You are probably getting a lot of boo-boo kisses from little Lovi, _n'est-ce pas_? Under the mistletoe?" Francis teased. There were shouts from Michelle and Émilie chorusing, "_Joyeux Noël_!" as well. "Don't drink yourself silly, _Rosbif_! You still need to recover!"

His call was followed by Jia Long's, "_Shèngdàn kuàilè_, Arthur-_dàgē_! Like, stop by the restaurant some time! We're pretty much open all day! We can, like, eat pizza together on my break!"

Victoria's cheery call was last. His fellow London native chirped, "Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, King! Listen, I did you the favour of applying to the conservatory Lisa and I attend for your Christmas present! I sneaked a few details for your application from your medical records, but keep quiet about that, all right?" She giggled, and Arthur rolled his eyes. "It's a good school, King, and I think you have a good shot! There's going to be an audition on the sixth of January, and your slot should be around noon! You'll get a letter about it in the mail! Anyway, best of British, and don't drink too much and get pissed, all right? You have to stay healthy for your audition! Bye bye!"

"Hey, bastard, what did you have up your sleeve?" Lovino inquired gruffly as he entered the room. Arthur hung up his call as soon as the automated voice informed him that he had no other messages. The blond beamed at the younger boy before patting the spot next to him, and Lovino - dubiously - obliged.

"Do you want to go see the Christmas lights in the city centre tonight?" he enquired. "You know, after we have dinner with your family?" Lovino eyed him wearily but said nothing more on the topic. He simply gave a suspicious nod before pointing out the fact that Arthur still had a dud leg. The blond chuckled and mused that he'll limp if he has to walk, but Lovino protested vigorously, snapping that he'll push him around in a wheelchair if he had to do so. Ah, Arthur really wanted to get this bloody brace off his leg _immediately_.

The two of them spent the rest of the day watching sappy Christmas films, eating Chinese takeaway that Jia Long had brought to them (the Chinese boy threw the delivery at Arthur's chest for making him drive around town in the cold weather, but luckily nothing was damaged), and playing with Elizabeth and Winston indoors. Arthur smiled, noting to himself that he would enjoy a rather settled, domestic life like this someday with just the two of them and their pets. Momentarily, he entertained the notion of children - because he rather liked caring for them - and whether Lovino would be good with them. Of course, the thoughts didn't last long since he knew that it was biologically impossible, and he didn't really want to talk about adoption with Lovino right now. They hadn't even formalised their relationship and were still, in a sense, walking on eggshells. (But the idea of adopting a little baby girl from China was still very much appealing to him!)

Later, Lovino was busying himself in the kitchen, cooking dinner for his family, since it was pointless to have to drive from the Vargas household to _L'Oiseau Bleu _back to the Vargas household and back again and back to the Vargas household again (for Feliciano and Mr Vargas, that is). Although the flat lacked a proper dinner table, there were enough stools at the kitchen island to seat four. Arthur wasn't sure, however, if there was enough space on the counter top to serve all the food Lovino was hell-bent on cooking. He lost track of how many appetisers and side-dishes the Italian was whipping up, and when Arthur offered to help with the pasta, Lovino refused his help, recalling the last time Arthur had nearly burned the tomato sauce. Once the Italian chef had his back turned though, Arthur took the responsibility of making dessert upon himself and prepared a batch of chocolate truffles. When Lovino looked into the fridge later, he was surprised to see an airtight container filled with perfectly shaped and almost perfectly decorated chocolate truffles. He glowered at Arthur accusingly, but the Briton turned away, whistling.

Arthur didn't know why either, but only his truffles turned out okay if he didn't add any liquor to them. Otherwise, they're more like a shot of vodka coated with chocolate.

Dinner itself was uneventful in terms of progress. The chatter was lively, and Feliciano could almost hold a conversation with Arthur. Perhaps it was only the spirit of the holiday, but the blond was thrilled not to have any hostility from his beloved one's brother directed at him today. Of course, he wasn't entirely keen with how Feliciano kept feeding Winston scraps off the entrée when he thought nobody was looking, probably acting out a scene from some sitcom on the telly in his mind. Still, with the bubbly cider in the stomach, Arthur couldn't bring himself to confront Feliciano about fattening Winston.

After Feliciano and Mr Vargas left the flat (only after Feliciano made Lovino promise to make the truffles again, which made Arthur laugh), the boys grabbed their coats and Winston's lead, clipping it to the bulldog, so that they - well, Lovino and Winston - could walk off the heavy dinner. In the city centre, lights were strung all over trees that had long shed their leaves as well as the lamp posts and bridges. The businesses lining the streets were decorated similarly with yellow lights, holiday wreaths, pine green garlands, and scarlet red ribbons. At the heart of the city was an enormous Christmas tree decorated with ornaments contributed by the St George Conservatory, the arts college which both Lisa and Victoria attended. The sight was absolutely breathtaking.

Stopping at a bench adorned with a big red bow, Arthur suggested they take a break. Lovino was more than willing to accept his offer and plopped himself down on the bench. Arthur chuckled, hopping onto the bench to join the brunet and to, ultimately, get closer. Winston's lead was still clutched tightly in his hand as he spoke, "I'm sorry I've been bloody selfish all of this time."

"Bastard, what are you talking about?" Lovino snapped, arching an eyebrow.

"We've never be honest with each other, dancing around this subject," Arthur continued, shamefaced, "and I'm afraid that it may have caused some confusion... I know that it did because, honestly, I wasn't sure about it myself at first, but..." The blond dug into his pocket, bringing out the small velvet box much to Lovino's confusion. "...here, this is for you. Open it."

Arthur averted his gaze, only stealing a glimpse of Lovino's flustered reaction. Growing more confident, he slammed his left hand against the back of the bench, trapping Lovino, and locked their eyes together, confessing, "I love you, Lovino. I really do... love you." At this, his cheeks grew red and he turned his face away again, bringing the back of his right hand forth to cover his face. Averting his eyes anywhere but at Lovino, he continued more timidly, "I want you to be my only one, and I-I've... I've said it before, but I want you to be only mine. You _are_ the only one... for me."

When Lovino hadn't responded, still in shock, Arthur spluttered, "A-Ah, I know it looks like an engagement ring; rather, it _is_ an engagement ring... But it won't be if you don't want it to be an engagement ring. I-I meant it to symbolise what I felt for you, honestly. I used the money from a few gigs and the job I had on West Side along with whatever I had left from spending on my equipment a few years back instead of Marianne's account, if you're worried about that, so don't worry about the expenses - "

He was taken aback when Lovino shoved the box back into his chest, blushing furiously with a scowl on his lip. This time Lovino was the one who refused to meet his gaze, and Arthur nearly felt his heart plummet into his stomach to be dissolved by acid until the Italian spoke, "Put it on my finger, bastard. It's an engagement ring, isn't it?" A wide grin stretched itself across Arthur's lips as he took the platinum band with a single emerald-cut diamond shining crystal clear underneath the Christmas lights and slipped it onto Lovino's left ring finger. It was a plain band neither too masculine nor too feminine. Lovino pressed his lips together shyly and whispered, "_Anch'io ti amo. Ti amo più di qualsiasi cosa, mio Cuordileone_." Voice cracking, as though he knew it would be cheating if he didn't speak in a language Arthur understood, he repeated, "I love you, too - more than anything in the world, bastard."

Arthur laughed, pulling Lovino into a hug and pressing a discreet kiss to any onlookers on the back of his neck. "My little ankle-biter!" he exclaimed merrily.

After lingering in the city for a while, the two of them opted to return to the flat, but Arthur still had one more stop left before the night was over. Naturally, Lovino wasn't willing to let the injured go alone, so he accompanied the blond to a quaint little neighbourhood on the northern side of town. His lover was cradling a moderately sized box, wrapped in snowy white wrapping paper with silver snowflakes and a frosty blue ribbon. There was a note set beneath the ribbon, and while the box itself was addressed to Peter Kirkland, the note read the names of four Kirkland brothers across the front: Alistair, Owain, Seamus, and Peter. Setting the box silently onto the front porch in the shadows where only the family could see it, Arthur pressed the doorbell and, without wasting a single second, limped down the steps to where Lovino was waiting with the wheelchair. Normally, he would have already been out of sight, but his dud leg had failed him.

"Whin urr ye comin' home, brat?" Alistair asked him from the threshold.

Arthur cracked a smile. "After graduation, maybe; after my birthday, maybe; once I get over my demons, definitely," he answered cryptically and vaguely.

Alistair snorted, smirking, "Why dae ye hae tae mak' things sae difficult?"

"'cause I don't kna da answers," he responded shortly with a shrug. "Got ter solve da problems first." He continued limping to Lovino's side, who was watching the scene with evident concern in his hazel eyes, even as Alistair eyed him wearily. The redhead eventually closed the door tightly shut to prevent the cold air from surging into the warm home. At the same time, Lovino relaxed when Arthur grasped his hand, kissing the platinum ring around his finger.

Of course, Christmas had gone much too well for him. When Arthur laid in bed that night, going through his mail, he found a letter from the university to which he had applied in Cambridge. Ripping it open, he found out that he hadn't made the cut in the end after all. They found him lacking in interest in the faculty of law, evidently, even though his answers on the exam were rather forthright, concise and precise, all the same, yet Arthur hadn't minded much. At that point in time, he hadn't even recalled the fact that he hadn't sent out any more applications to other schools and that graduation would be approaching in as little as two months.

His days as a high school student were numbered, but he didn't care. Because as soon as Lovino crawled into his arms, he knew that, no matter what the time, as long as Lovino was with him, he would be all right.

"Is this really an engagement ring, bastard?" Lovino asked softly. "I'm only sixteen, dammit."

"We can wait," Arthur promised, pressing a kiss to Lovino's temple. "I can wait for you until the day I die. We don't even have to be engaged. Just... Promise yourself to me, and I'll do the same - me to you. They're... What are they called? Promise rings? Well, promise _ring_. You have the only one. Jeweller said that it was one of a kind."

Lovino blushed, burying his face into Arthur's chest.

"Hey, bastard?"

"Yes, my darling little spitfire?" Arthur responded, the endearment dipped lightly with sarcasm.

"I, uh, promise... myself to you."

* * *

"Happy New Year!" Gilbert crowed as he invited Arthur and Lovino into his home, where heavy bass was pounding out of the speakers and TV lights were flashing together with the strobe lights he had sitting on top of a food table that was loaded with nothing but fruit punch, cans of sodas, and salty snacks. (It was arranged for the minors, evidently, because, peering inside, they could find Mathias playing the role of a bartender at Gilbert's bar.) It seemed that Gilbert's parents were out of the house for a few days and Ludwig was spending New Years with Feliciano and Kiku. The younger Beilschmidt and Vargas wanted to experience traditional Japanese celebrations, apparently. That, or Ludwig knew of Gilbert's plans to throw a party behind their parents' back and wanted nothing of it. "Come in, come in, Artie, Vargas!" The albino, dressed in a pair of shredded white jeans and a black muscle shirt with his usual red high tops, threw his arms around the couple and pulled them into his not-so-humble abode. "Hey, awesome cast, Art! You're a fucking monster, I tell you, being able to survive a pretty nasty wreck, and a sexy beast! I love those fucking pants!"

Lovino grunted at the greeting, dressed in the clothes he had received from Christmas and his favorite Armani boots along with his winter coat. Arthur was dressed in a mauve colored button shirt with a black long coat, leather pants that matched the leather gloves on his hands (both of which Lovino found too fucking sexy), a buckled military boot mismatching the brace about his injured leg, and a knit crimson scarf wrapped loosely around his neck.

"My leg wasn't as bad as the doctors thought when I went back for an x-ray," Arthur explained with a scowl. "That, or they weren't familiar with my _monstrous_ recovery rate." Raising an eyebrow, he asked, "Are you drunk already?"

"_Nein, mein ehrfürchtigen Freund_! Just high from all of this energy!"

"His ribs are still fucked up though, and his leg is still recovering even though he's limping his ass everything," Lovino pointed out, jabbing a forefinger at Gilbert's chest and forcing the host to step a few paces back. "So you can't force him to binge drink, got it?"

Gilbert's attention was fixed on something else though. "Whoa! Awesome rock, Vargas! It's fucking huge!" That was an overstatement; the diamond was hardly one carat. Nevertheless, Gilbert snatched Lovino's hand, much to Arthur's amusement, and held it closer to his face so that his red eyes can examine the gemstone. "Christmas present?"

"What's it to you, damn albino bastard?" Lovino snapped, retracting his hand and rubbing his promise ring protectively.

"Check it out, everyone!" Gilbert roared into the crowd. "Lovino Vargas got engaged on Christmas!"

"Bastard, shut up!"

Arthur reached for Gilbert, pulling the albino back before he could go off spreading rumours (though they would be true), and gave the German a wink. "Don't go upsetting my wife to-be, all right, mate?"

"Chigi! Who's your wife, you dumb bastard?!" Lovino screeched, smacking Arthur on the arm.

The blond burst out laughing and began counting off the reasons on his fingers, "You cook breakfast. You cook lunch. You cook dinner. You boss me around like a good wife should. And I bought the ring."

"Bastard," Lovino grumbled. "Fine! I'm the fucking wife! You better be prepared to buy me a shitload of designer clothes and market fresh ingredients to keep me at your side, Arthur!"

The Briton laughed. "Anything to make you happy, _dearest_."

"Fuck you."

Gilbert blinked at them. "You two have a weird relationship. Are you into that bondage, S&M crap or something?"

Lovino fumed and nearly pummeled the albino to death if Arthur hadn't whacked his friend upside the head first. "Twat," he snapped. "Do you really want me to beat you up to a bloody pulp at your own party, wanker? If I hadn't known any better, I would have assumed _you_ were masochistic - with how you're always beaten by Elizaveta and whatnot for insulting her boyfriend."

"_Ja, ja, ja_, I get it, I get it!" Gilbert responded dismissively, flicking his wrist at Arthur offhandedly. "Speaking of, I haven't bothered them since winter break began! I need to get back into the habit of doing that!" the albino declared firmly with a confident nod, sneaking off into the crowd. "Meet me and Mathias at the bar later! We have to drink together again!" Arthur rolled his eyes.

"_Rosbif! Rosbif_!" Francis cried as he jogged over to Arthur's side. Michelle and Antonio were hot on his tail. "Is what Gilbert saying true, or was he drunk? You proposed to little Lovi?"

"Stop talking like I'm not here, bastard!"

"Lovi, is it true?!" Antonio cried, taking the smaller hands within his and gasping when he saw the platinum band with a single diamond. "Oh, _Dios mío!_" The Spaniard broke into his native language, rambling incoherently, finishing with, "You're only sixteen, Lovi!"

"Have you two consummated your engagement yet?" Francis inquired, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Arthur cuffed his rival on the head, glaring dangerously at the Frenchman. Francis rubbed his head with a frown, muttering, "It was only a question. No need to be so crude, _Rosbif_. Anyway, congratulations!"

Michelle frowned. "Brows, you're not even eighteen yet!"

Arthur smiled in a brotherly manner, patting her head, chirping, "How sweet, Chelly! Are you worried for me? Don't worry. I'll turn eighteen soon, and it's not like we're getting married right away! There's no rush, is there, Lovino?"

"Uh, yeah," Lovino mumbled, starting to shy away even more at the topic. Either that, or he really couldn't bring himself to be upfront with anyone of the female specimen.

Michelle arched an eyebrow. "If you're sure," she remarked before turning on her heel and rejoining the crowd. Francis then dragged the sobbing Spaniard away from the happy couple, and Lovino kicked Arthur in the shin on his "good leg," not wanting to risk injury to his left leg again.

"Ow! What was that for, git?"

"Why didn't you tell them that we're not _technically_ engaged, bastard?"

Rather, they were _promised_ to be engaged... And Lovino still hadn't told his family. Didn't know how to break it to them. It wasn't like they hadn't noticed the ring on his finger though, so maybe he didn't have to tell them... Well, that was hopeful thinking. His family was pretty oblivious.

"You didn't either, wanker," Arthur remarked pointedly, and Lovino flushed. At this, Arthur smiled and pulled him away by the hand. Over the pounding music, the Briton told his Italian lover, "Let them think what they want! I don't care, and you shouldn't either!" They weaved through the crowd of people, greeting a few familiar faces, before stopping in front of the bar. Arthur took a seat at the counter, and Lovino joined him.

"Hey, Artie!" Mathias greeted.

"Mathias!" Arthur returned amiably, clasping his hand and patting his taller friend's back in place of a hug. "Haven't seen you in a while! All right, mate?"

The burly man laughed and chirped, "I've been 'all right,'" he said, mimicking Arthur's accent, "but a little lonely! It's because you and Gilbert went off and got into the special class!" Mathias accused playfully. "You left me all alone with Berwald, and everyone knows that he's no fun when it comes to fighting! My only other option was Braginski, de Vries, and Carriedo. Carriedo's a nice guy though, so I never feel like rough housing with him! Sometimes de Vries isn't up to a fight either, but Braginski's another story! The guy's kind of batshit insane!"

"That's putting it lightly," Lovino mumbled.

"Who's your little friend?" Mathias chirped, eyeing Lovino with curiosity, not offended at the coarse nature of speech. Rather, the Dane found it more amusing. "Have we met before?"

"At Jia Long and Matthew's party, I believe," Arthur offered. He pushed Lovino forward gently and introduced his boyfriend - yes, that had a lovely ring to it, quite literally - to his good friend, "Lovino, this is Mathias Kohler. Mathias, this is Lovino Vargas."

"Pleasure to meet you - Hey," Mathias stopped short upon noticing the ring on Lovino's finger, "don't tell me this is your boyfriend."

"Okay, fine, I won't, wanker," Arthur replied curtly.

"No way!" the Dane exclaimed, peering closer at the finger with genuine curiosity. "That's crazy, Arthur! You seriously - _you_, who never took his girlfriends seriously - you seriously purposed to a - "

"How about some G and T, Mathias?" Arthur interjected before Lovino could blow his top. The name of the beverage threw Lovino off before, as he hadn't heard of "G and T," until he saw what Mathias was preparing - gin and tonic water poured over ice cubes with a wedge of lime and lemon. In Italy, that would be called gin tonic. It was alcohol, and alcohol was considered bad for recovery. Arthur was injured, and yet he considered pumping his body full of alcohol, which was like consuming poison. Was the bastard dumb or conceited? Or maybe he was both?

"Right away, Artie!"

"I'm starting to think that I should hide this damn ring," the Italian grumbled. "By the way, you're not drinking if you want your ribs to get better!"

"Oh yeah! I heard about your accident, but I didn't believe it because, hey, we're talking about _the_ Arthur Kirkland, right? Then I saw your leg," Mathias mused as he turned back to the couple with a glass of gin and tonic. "I guess you don't need this anymore, right, if that was true?"

Arthur sighed and glanced yearningly at his G and T before stealing a glimpse of an expectant Lovino. The smaller blond ended up flicking his wrist at the drink dismissively. "You can have it, mate," he mumbled, placing his head back on the counter on top of his arms. Lovino rolled his eyes and patted his head sardonically. "I'll just have a coke."

"With rum?" Mathias sniggered as he sipped Arthur's gin and tonic.

"Sod off."

"So have you gotten accepted anywhere yet?" Mathias inquired curiously. "The Ingenious Arthur Kirkland must have a school lined up for his future somewhere in the world!"

"Eh, not accepted anywhere yet," Arthur mused before recalling that he had an audition in a few days. What would he even do? He'd have to call Lisa and Victoria later. "You?"

"I've got my eyes set on a school, but we'll have to see."

"Don't we all?"

Lovino frowned at this, feeling left out. He knew that Arthur was a year older than him, but he hadn't realized how much of a difference there could be. Arthur was already speaking of college and university and working and - and _marriage_ - things Lovino hadn't fathomed for a while. Not since he was a kid. He couldn't even remember what he wanted to be as a kid, and soon Arthur was going to be a legal adult - eighteen years old. That reminded the younger boy, "When are you turning eighteen, bastard?"

"Err... April twenty-third, I believe," Arthur responded slowly before nodding his head in confirmation. "April twenty-third."

Mathias laughed, chirping, "You don't even know your own birthday!"

"I do! I just...forget when it comes around."

Lovino snorted. April twenty-third.

Wait a minute, they met in March.

"You fucker!" Lovino screeched, grabbing hold of the collar of Arthur's shirt, shaking him violently. Mathias watched, amused, as the two betrothed to-be fought a rather one-sided argument. "You didn't even tell me it was your birthday last April! What the hell?!"

"I might have... forgotten?" Arthur concluded dubiously, prying Lovino's hands from his shirt. He gave Lovino a wry smile. "We didn't know each other that well back then, so it would have been a little awkward saying, 'Oh, and today's my birthday!' like a needy attention whore _if_ I had even remembered. I usually don't celebrate my birthday anyway. Besides, you didn't even tell me your birthday either, little ankle-biter."

Oh yeah, right, that's true.

"March seventeenth," Lovino muttered under his breath. A goofy smile stretched across Arthur's lips as though the blond had thought of a funny, or idiotic, joke. "What?"

"What about St Patrick's Day?"

"Shut up, bastard. You're so stupid."

"You guys have a weird relationship," Mathias mused as he watched the pair with great amusement.

"Kesesese! Artie, Mathias! You guys ready to drink?!"

"Can't," Mathias sipped some more of Arthur's gin and tonic and nodded his head to the sober Arthur. "His ribs are still recovering. Didn't he tell you?"

"_Verdammt_!" Gilbert cursed. He frowned. "So what now? We dance?"

"I don't dance," Arthur remarked brusquely.

"You do, too!" Mathias protested with a smirk. "Remember that one time at the nightclub downtown with the glowing dance floor?"

"Not while I'm sober, gits," Arthur clarified curtly. Just to reaffirm his statement, he repeated, "_Definitely_ not while I'm sober." For that, Lovino was partially relieved. It meant that Arthur would never force him to dance. On the other hand, the Italian's curiosity was somewhat piqued regarding the older boy's antics when drunk. In a way, it seemed that Arthur had already done plenty without him.

"What's the difference? Either way, you don't dance sober, but you will tonight! Come on, let's go! I'll keep it simple for you!" Mathias cheered, his every word a taunt creeping onto Arthur's nerves, as he bounced onto the dance floor, which cleared automatically for the taller boy. "Just follow my lead!"

"The fuck is the big idea?" Lovino mumbled under his breath.

"Ah, you don't know? Mathias is pretty renown for hip hop and break dancing at school," Arthur pointed out. "He's not in any dance clubs at school, but he picked it up pretty fast at the nightclubs once he hit seventeen. He had some practice before then in his living room, I guess, with watching music videos and all."

"Hey, Arthur!" Mathias called out to the blond at the middle of the floor, making the crowd hoot, howl, and holler. The smaller blond twitched with annoyance, knowing that he couldn't back out of a challenge now that Mathias had caught everyone's attention. He watched as the larger man began popping and flexing his joints, moving his arms and legs in ways that Arthur hadn't thought possible for the bulky man, to the beat of the music. Soon, Gilbert fell into the same pattern, jerking his elbows side to side, popping his torso to follow his hand movements, sliding on the flat of his feet, twisting his legs around, shaking his hips, and overall following Mathias' lead while commending himself for being so awesome. His two so-called friends locked gazes with him, daring Arthur to join in on the dance, and the punk had little choice but to join them in an attempt to preserve his pride. Lovino watched in shock as his lover nodded his head in tune with the beat, first formulating a plan, before Arthur began snapping his fingers to the rhythm like a cliché bad boy and striding onto the dance floor while keeping most of his weight off his bad leg. The blond then jumped into the dance and overtook the other two with a new pattern.

His actions made the crowd roar with excitement as the other two improvised to keep up with the Briton who, allegedly, did not dance while sober. Arthur's five minutes of fame hadn't lasted long when Mathias broke the routine they had established. The larger blond slid on the floor, using the momentum to spin on his back, before hauling his body weight upwards, kicking his legs, and falling back onto the floor. He wasn't done with just one trick, however, and so he proceeded to spin about the dance floor while kicking his feet in a sort of windmill rotation. The crowd cheered, ecstatic, while Arthur and Gilbert backed off to give their attention seeking friend some room. When the song died, applause ripped throughout the room. Then when a Korean one-hit wonder swept across the room with its one-time-only sensation, everyone burst into a dance. Some were noticeably better than others, and some were noticeably worse. Arthur moved back to Lovino, who remarked, "I thought you didn't dance sober."

"I was high with adrenaline," Arthur responded with a wry smile.

Lovino clicked his tongue. "That was something, bastard. Never took you for a dancer," the Italian retorted.

He chuckled and asserted, "I'm not." At Lovino's disbelieving expression, the blond brought himself to explain, "I had to pick up a few tricks being around Mathias when the git is always goading Gilbert and me at the dance car. All I know is basic movements though - nothing like his break dancing. Do you want me to show you or teach you or anything?"

"N-No thanks, bastard."

Arthur laughed and pulled Lovino along. "Let's get some air. My lungs are killing me after all of that moving!" the young Englishman insisted. With that, the two of them left Gilbert's living room through the back door. Unlike Francis' backyard, Gilbert's was more rustic. There was a tree house from when Gilbert and Ludwig were small children, but other than that and a large doghouse spacious enough to shelter three large dogs, Ludwig's Blackie, Berlitz, and Aster, the Beilschmidt family didn't keep anything much in their backyard. Arthur laid down on the grass, staring into the dark sky, and checked the time. "Just ten more minutes until midnight," Arthur commented, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "Did we really spend all that time dancing?"

"You bastards went through three songs from what I've noticed," the younger boy answered as he sat down to the right of his lover.

"Bloody hell! Those gits always keep me on my toes..."

Lovino huffed. "What about me, bastard?" he grumbled under his breath. It wasn't like he was jealous! Arthur could be friends with whomever he wanted, and he could hang out with whomever he wanted! They were bound to be more entertaining than a kid younger than them, right? Hah! They could go out to bars or pubs or clubs or whatever and drink themselves silly! See if Lovino cared! Well, he didn't! Bastards!

"Hm, did you say something?"

"Chigi!" Lovino screeched before recoiling at his own noise. He huffed indignantly and grunted, "Nothing, dammit, you jerk."

"Jealous are we, git?"

"Fuck no! Who the hell would be jealous of those fucking bozos?!" Arthur chuckled before grasping hold of Lovino's left hand with his right hand, entwining their fingers and smiling as he lifted it into the air, admiring the gleam of the metal. Lovino clicked his tongue. "Everyone and this fucking ring! Is it too damn flashy or something?"

"I just like the way it looks on you," Arthur mused aloud. "It means no matter what, you'll commit yourself to me. I kind of wish I thought to get us a pair, so then you can see what I mean. Everyone else can go fuck themselves for all I care."

"Heh, I rarely hear you say that."

"I try to be a gentleman, but you don't really care if I am or not. What's the point of keeping of the charade then?" Arthur responded automatically with a soft smile. He pressed a kiss against the ring, his lips lingering against Lovino's fingers. "I'm myself when I'm with you. It's comforting that there's someone who likes - or, at the very least, can accept - this part of me."

Lovino flushed in embarrassment, but he still didn't pull his hand away. Instead, he commented, "Out of all of the people you know, how can you say that it's me you're the most comfortable with? You knew that French bastard for a long time, and you're always around the albino bastard. The Japanese guy, Honda, was your first friend in high school, or so I've heard. Plus, even though that dumb tomato bastard doesn't like you, he definitely knows you longer than I have almost like you're the back of his fucking hand. Plus, you treat that obnoxious hamburger bastard, his brother, and Jia Long like they're your own children, and Michelle Bonnefoy is practically your sister. That Mathias guy from earlier, you seem pretty chummy with him - and the two other mystic bastards, too."

"Mystic bastards?" Arthur repeated in confusion before realisation dawned upon him. "Oh, you mean Lukas and Vladimir?"

"Chigi! Like I know!" Lovino snapped, turning his gaze away from Arthur defiantly. "Anyway, my point is that you know a hell lot of people longer than you've known me, or that they knew you first or whatever. How can you feel the most comfortable around me? E-Enough to p-pro-propose?"

"So you _are_ jealous," Arthur concluded.

"Did I say that, bastard?! No, I didn't! I'm just fucking confused!" Lovino barked defensively before shrinking into himself. "S-Sorry for yelling... But, err, seriously though, why me?"

Arthur sat up, keeping their fingers laced, before leaning closer and pressing a chaste kiss against Lovino's lips. "Did you ever get the feeling that, just looking at someone for the first time, you were attracted to them? You don't know why or how or even to what aspect about them?" Arthur paused but didn't wait for Lovino to respond even though the Italian was already recalling the day they first met. "That's how I felt when I first saw you. There was something about you that... _compelled _me to get to know you. I just needed to be close to you. Everyone else is a good friend or a good sister or brother, but you're the first one I _love _- really, truly, deeply." By the time he was done, Arthur was blushing and looking away as well. "We're... We're alike, you and I, and I know that means we'll have rough times with our tempers and all. But I... I feel for you. I love you, Lovino. I'm sorry it took me until Christmas to confess, but I suppose it's better than holding out until, I don't know, bloody graduation or... or maybe even ten or twenty years... I was that afraid to lose you that I was willing to keep it to myself for the longest time, but... That was impossible, in the end."

Lovino pursed his lips. "Would you still love me even when you've graduated? Even though I'll still be in high school? Even though you'll be in college - somewhere in England, maybe? Even though, compared to you, I'll be a kid?" The Italian ducked his head, hiding his face behind a curtain of rich brown hair.

Arthur laughed softly. "Is that what you're worried about?" the blond mused. "I love you because you're you, and I'll love you because you'll always be you. No matter what happens. No matter how old you are, where you are, or what you'll be. I promised myself to you, remember? And," the blond faltered, wondering how to mention this, before deciding to just be blunt, "I'm not going to England, after all."

"_Che cosa?_ Why?" Lovino blurted out, turning to face Arthur immediately.

"I, err, didn't get accepted. Remember when Mathias asked if I've been accepted anywhere? I've been rejected."

"No way! There's got to be something wrong! They can't just _reject you_!" Lovino cried in panic. "You're fucking smart, and you have a fucking insane memory! A-and you're just amazing, dammit! How could they reject you?!"

Well, Lovino was taking it harder than he himself, the person rejected, was, Arthur mused with a humoured smile. "Relax, little ankle-biter," the blond mused. "It's all right."

"It can't be alright!" Lovino insisted. "That's like seventy euros - eighty or even a hundred-twenty euros, tops - in application fees, and then there was the airfare to England! And then the hotel and the transport and meals a-an-and... How could they just _reject_ you?!"

"I'm only a part of the ninety-two percent who have been through the same thing, Lovino," Arthur mentioned with a wry smile. "We all took the risk of financial loss when we applied. It's all right. I was lacking in their expectation is all." The blond tightened his hold on Lovino's hand and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Thanks for getting mad for me though. I appreciate it. I... I didn't even know how to react when I found out, but it's okay. I have another application lined up. I'm going to the campus on the sixth."

Lovino pouted. "What's your chances of getting in?"

"Twelve percent," Arthur replied shortly.

"Fuck," the brunet cursed, "just find a school that does fifty-fifty and save yourself the suspense, bastard!" They both knew he didn't mean it. Arthur was the kind of person who liked challenges, and Lovino understood fully well that he couldn't back down simply.

Arthur checked his phone. "Midnight in a minute," he reminded the brunet before standing up. He stretched out a hand to Lovino, who took it gratefully, and hauled his lover back onto his feet. "Let's get back inside."

There, the two of them found that the music had been lowered, and most of the guests were all holding party poppers while Gilbert and Mathias were in the center with a bottle of champagne - not for those below seventeen like Lovino though - and moderately sized champagne tower, leading the countdown.

"Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!" the guests chanted, throwing their fists in the air simultaneously with Gilbert's and Mathias'. "Six! Five! Four!" By now, Arthur had joined the shouting, and Lovino leaned against his lover in the back, where nobody rested their eyes upon them. "Three! Two! _One_!"

A slur of "Happy New Year!" resounded in the Beilschmidt home, each guest cheering in their native tongue, as they all pulled on the string to their party popper, releasing confetti and streamers into the air with a loud bang, while Gilbert popped the cork of the champagne bottle, the alcohol spraying on almost everything but the champagne tower until Mathias took over. The older guests each took a glass, but Lovino kept a strong hold on Arthur's arm.

"Shall we go home?" the blond suggested with a smile. Home - with Lovino, his "wife."

Lovino returned the smile. "We shall," the Italian agreed.

* * *

On January sixth, Gilbert was on his fifth day of punishment for throwing a ludicrous party he couldn't even clean up to conceal his mess, and Arthur was on the campus of St George's Conservatory for the Arts with nothing but his bass guitar and equipment. There, Victoria nearly gleefully leapt upon him if it weren't for Lisa holding her back. "Remember, Victoria, that his ribs are still healing," the blonde remarked, giving Arthur an apologetic smile. The two of them were wearing, once again, matching outfits - only Victoria wore the skirt and ribbons in her hair while Lisa was wearing denim shorts and another stylish hat. "Nervous?" Lisa inquired of her new friend.

"Just a little," Arthur responded with a subtle, half smile.

"How have you been feeling?"

"Better than when I was flung off my bike, that's for sure," Arthur answered blatantly.

Victoria piped up, "Well, don't feel nervous! We put in a good word for you! Just don't botch up, okay, King?"

Arthur grimaced. "Is that supposed to make me feel better, Victoria?"

"We'll see!" Victoria chirped before pushing Arthur to the front entrance of the main building. "Come on, come on! Let's get your audition over with so we can show you around!"

"You act like he's already been accepted, Victoria dear," Lisa commented wryly. "Nothing is official yet."

"Oh, don't be so stiff, Lisa!"

The two girls escorted Arthur into the auditorium, where he waited backstage with a number of other performers, each unique in their own way. The one who had caught his eye, however, was the bulky third year from World Academy. Mathias noticed him, too, and, after his initial shock, gave him a wave. The Dane approached him and slung an arm around his neck. "I thought you were applying for law school or something, Artie!" Mathias exclaimed.

"Well, I was more or less voluntold to do this," Arthur replied, glancing at Victoria, who began backing away with Lisa. "It's been a while since I've performed for anyone formally though."

"I'm sure you'll do great! I miss your songs!"

"You, too, mate... but, err, not about the songs. Dancing."

Mathias laughed, and so did Arthur.

Three weeks later, Arthur received a favourable response from the conservatory and hoped his friend had gotten the same.

* * *

**A/N:** Even though Great Britain is not quite renown for fine cuisine (at least not where I'm from), their truffles and sweets and desserts are quite delicious! I kind of envision Arthur as the tsundere!lover who can't cook worth crap but, for some reason or another, doesn't exactly disappoint when making sweets like pudding and truffles. He's also the kind of guy who doesn't realise that he has a lot of friends and is an introvert. He's a complex character, really, which is why Lovino has a hard time understanding him.

After this, there's only four more chapters!


	31. Chapter 31 - Valentine's Day

**Chapter Thirty-One: Valentine's Day**

Over the course of January, Arthur's ribs had healed perfectly, and he no longer had to walk with a brace on his leg. The x-rays regarding his broken ribs revealed no complications - such as damaged kidneys or failed livers - and Arthur was free to eat and drink whatever he wanted. Naturally, the first thing the blond sought to do was to arrange the postponed drinking contest from New Year's with Mathias and Gilbert, drinking all the gin and tonics, rum and coke, vodka martinis, ales, and whiskies that he pleased. Of course, Lovino wasn't at all pleased when Arthur returned home with his equally drunk friends, a bumbling and babbling mess, from celebrating Gilbert's birthday on the eighteenth. The Italian was especially flustered when the Briton began crooning love songs into his ear, pressing kisses against his nape, and crying about how it wasn't fair that his brothers never loved or realised that they loved him until they lost him.

That especially hurt. All of the emotions that Arthur didn't even know he had, all of the pent-up emotions that Arthur didn't even realize he was holding back, suddenly burst and poured out of his body. It seemed that he hadn't spoken a bit about this at the pub to which they went though. Gilbert and Mathias were both drunkenly cackling and sniggering about dancing to some Korean boy band and about how Arthur was talking to the fairy queen, Titania, like he was on a "rendezvous," which was repeated almost twenty thousand times by Gilbert like it was a song ("Miss Fairy and Arthur are on a rendezvous! Rendezvous! Rendezvous!"). Of course, Lovino wasn't much of a courteous host (well, it technically wasn't his apartment, but he figured it fell under his jurisdiction considering the circumstances) to allow them to stay. He wasn't so much of a cruel person to kick them to the curb either and instead hailed a taxi to deal with them, giving the driver Gilbert's address.

After that drunken fiasco, Arthur's morning hangover extended Lovino's stay at the apartment so that he could take care of his lover with a bit of snarky care. Unfortunately, he knew that his grandfather would want him home soon now that Arthur was completely fine - no leg problems, no chest problems, no killer migraines - and healthy. By late January, early February, and somewhere in the middle of the Chinese New Year Jia Long and his family were celebrating, Lovino was back in his neighborhood, back in his house, back with his family, back in his room, and away from Arthur.

And, goddammit, he missed that pain-in-the-ass-when-drunk, tea-is-better-than-coffee, I-play-bass-not-really-guitar, punk-ass-delinquent-who-picks-up-stray-animals-like-a-cliché-bad-boy-it's-not-even-funny-anymore bastard. With Arthur, there was only the two of them, and although he would never admit it aloud, he enjoyed that company - platonic or otherwise. Here, at home, there was his brother and his grandfather, annoying bastards. While he didn't hate them, while he did love them as one could love family, they drove him up the wall. Especially on Valentine's Day. His brother never left the kitchen even when people - or, more specifically, Lovino - needed to prepare breakfast.

"What are you doing, _idiota_?" Lovino inquired as he watched his brother melt white, milk, and dark chocolate in separate sauce pans. He leaned back against the kitchen counter, fighting the urge to snap off a piece of chocolate yet to be melted. Oh, what the hell! Lovino snapped off a moderate chunk of chocolate and devoured it right in front of his brother. It smelt pretty damn good in the kitchen. Feliciano began to layer his chocolate tastefully in the plastic mold with artistic appeal. "What's the chocolate for?"

"Ve, Valentine's Day is coming up!" Feliciano chirped. "I'm making chocolates for Ludwig and Kiku and Gilbert and Elizaveta and - !"

"That spud eating bastard?! Forget it! You're better off not making _any _chocolate for that picky bastard!" Lovino snapped.

Feliciano batted his eyes and pouted childishly. "Why?" he whined like a kicked puppy.

"Because he's a fucking calculating bastard who can't even make up his mind about whether he likes something or not! He's always evaluating and analyzing shit like he's a goddamn robot! He's not a fucking honest bastard, dammit!" Lovino roared. "Besides, you're Italian! The only people who celebrate Valentine's Day are couples! It's weird to give chocolates to your friends!"

"Ve, but we're not in Italy, _Fratello_! I'm sure that he'll appreciate the gesture, and so will everyone else!" Feliciano chirped. "Ludwig is a really nice person, _Fratello_! Ve, why don't you make something for Artù? Is it because he's not an honest bastard either? But you're a couple, aren't you? _Fratello_, you said that only couples celebrate Valentine's Day, so aren't you celebrating?"

"Chigi!" Lovino screeched. "Arthur will eat anything I cook for him!"

"Veeee~ I heard from Elizaveta that a way to a man's heart is through his stomach, _Fratello_. Is that how you got him? I don't think you should be with someone who is so easily satiated, ve. He could be using you, _Fratello_!"

"_Chigiii_! This isn't _about me_, dammit!" Lovino fumed, but as he calmed down, the Italian muttered, "Where did you get the chocolate, _idiota_?"

"At the corner market, ve. Why are you asking, _Fratello_?"

"Maybe I want to eat some chocolate, dammit!" Lovino screeched before marching upstairs to change into publicly decent clothes. He pulled a slim white t-shirt with monochromatic printed images of praiseworthy architecture over his head and shrugged on a casual black blazer onto his shoulders. The Italian then pulled on a pair of light blue denim jeans and fixed a leather belt around his waist before slipping on a pair of socks and stepping into his Armani boots. He snatched his keys off the surface of his and Feliciano's dresser and plopped his cell phone and wallet into his back pocket. Climbing down the stairs, he heard his grandfather ask if he was going to wear a coat, and Lovino's response was accordingly: "I'll be fine, _Nonno_!"

Lovino could handle a few seconds of discomfort as long as he looked fashionable even though he was only going to the corner market. He fished his phone out of his pocket and contemplated if he ought to call Arthur's number to see what kind of chocolate he liked before deciding against it. He wouldn't want to be too obvious, and he would never hear the end of Arthur's teasing remarks if the blond learned that Lovino was making chocolates - _not just for him,_ dammit, because the Italian wanted some as well!

On the west side of town, three friends were gathered today after school in an English-styled pub drinking a bit of ale and enjoying morsels of food for dinner. While Cameron was polishing pint glasses to make it look like he wasn't _just _holding a conversation with his newest regulars, Arthur, Gilbert, and Mathias all concurred that they must shift their usual drinking place - a tavern house named after the founder - to Alice's. Of course, their decision wasn't without any curious examinations.

"Why is it called Alice's?" Mathias inquired good naturedly.

"Alice is a good name," Arthur declared with a single nod of his head, "but I don't see an Alice around here."

"It was named after _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_," Cameron replied amiably, "but that was too long. We just shortened it to Alice's since 'Wonderland' sounded like a hookah lounge."

"Didn't that caterpillar in the movie smoke hookah?" Gilbert pointed out with a cheeky smirk. "Maybe you should have set up a hookah lounge instead, Cameron!"

The bartender only shook his head with an amused grin, deciding that it was better not to serve these kids any more than their three pints and various orders. He wouldn't want to rob them blind.

Arthur sighed happily as he finished off the last of his fish. "Yaahr fish an' chips're always so _good_, Boss!" the blond chimed, slurring his words together, as he laid his head on top of the bar counter. Arthur especially, Cameron noted, should not receive any more alcohol. He knew fairly well by now that the Briton was somewhat of a lightweight but an amusing drunk. He was usually a partier once his inhibitions were unrestrained but also a bit of a crier. He sighed airily, whining, "I miss fish an' chips..."

"Lovino doesn't make any for you?" Mathias inquired, his words slow and particulate. Compared to Arthur, the Dane still somewhat level-headed, but his eyes were rather clouded.

"Lovino cooks Italian food, but 'is family is keepin' 'im at 'ome today, so 'e can't cook fer me. S'why I called yew gits."

"You're totally _whipped_, man!" Gilbert crowed before cackling, "Kesesese!" Because the German was set on savoring his awesome German beer, he hadn't consumed nearly as much as Arthur or Mathias. The albino threw an arm around Arthur's neck. "It's so awesomely funny that the one who's got you around his little finger is Vargas, Antonio's little Lovi! The little guy's only got bark, no bite!"

"Don't say that!" Arthur interjected before trying to force Gilbert's face into the remains of his bangers and mash, which he and Cameron had to explain to Gilbert as sausage and mashed potatoes. "'e aint Carriedo's lil' Lovi any more! 'e's me lil ankle-biter! Only mine an' mine only, got it, yew bl-bloody wank-wanker?! Blast! 'old still, arsehole!" Unfortunately for Arthur, his vision was currently impaired, so he kept missing all three of Gilbert's head when he was trying to grab hold of the albino. He tried sitting back down but ended up missing his stool when it split into two like some disgusting fungus. "Shite." Mathias and Gilbert burst into laughter, roaring and hooting at their friend's misfortune, while Cameron was chuckling behind the bar. "Da bloody 'ell're yew lot laughin' at?"

"I was going to offer Arthur back his job since the conservatory is nearby, but he probably wouldn't even remember later," Cameron mused. "I guess I ought to keep him around for an hour and wait for his head to clear."

"Good idea," Mathias agreed with a nod. "Can we get a glass of water then? And some more of these fries? They're so damn good!" Turning back to his friends, the Dane mentioned, "It's Valentine's Day tomorrow. Well, you don't have anything to worry about, Arthur, but me and Gilbert, on the other hand, ha... It's a sad day."

Gilbert cackled louder and boasted, "Being alone is the best though, kesesese! There's nobody to worry about, and nobody to worry about you. You can do whatever awesome things you want! Best of all," he smirked widely and kicked Arthur lightly in the side, "you're not unawesomely whipped like Artie here!"

"Shut it, yew prat. Me 'ead's killin' me..."

"Drink some water, Arthur," Cameron said, placing a glass at Arthur's seat even though the blond hadn't even bothered standing up yet, lying sprawled on the floor. Mathias hauled his friend back onto the stool, and after five attempts, much to the others' amusement, Arthur managed to take a sip of the offered water. "At least he doesn't drink on the job."

"But imagine the awesome crowd he'd attract if he did!" Gilbert pondered aloud, grinning deviously with mirth flashing in his red eyes.

"You're not using your friend like he's a freak show, Gilbert," Mathias scolded gravely before joining the albino in a fit of laughter. Eventually, the two of them calmed down, both musing glumly, Valentine's Day, huh...

* * *

The next morning, when Arthur woke up to change into his gear, he couldn't place the feeling that there was something he should remember. Odd, because he had only drunk during dinner, there was no trace of a hangover. He remembered everything that happened - vaguely, not clearly - Mathias and Gilbert's teasing, Cameron's job offer... Ah, whatever, if he couldn't remember it, then it must not be important, or so Arthur concluded as he laced up his combat boots. The Briton strolled into the kitchen, where he first fed his pets before preparing a slice of toast and Marmite as well as a cuppa.

Sitting down at his sectional, he pulled out his phone to glance at the time and date. It was the fourteenth of February, and he couldn't remember anything that was particularly important. Sighing, the young Englishman convinced himself that he would remember later if it was really that important. Instead, he resolved to finishing off his light breakfast before patting Winston and Elizabeth a few times, reminding them to be on their best behaviour while he was away. He shouldered his school bag and sauntered out of the flat, locking it up with his keys.

Maybe it had to do with lunch...

No, it couldn't be, Arthur dismissed the notion easily as he stepped into the lift. Lovino always made lunch for the both of them, so he never really bothered to remember to bring money for lunch - just enough for the drinks. Although Lovino thought it tasted like crap, the Italian always drank the canned espresso from the vending machine, so Arthur got into a habit of buying two, one for each of them, just before lunch. Additionally, there was no way he could have forgotten something like that since it was so routine by now.

Exiting the lift onto the ground floor, he waved to Miss Jane behind the receptionist desk and trudged down the pavement, mentally beating himself for not recalling something that was going to bother him for the remainder of the day - if he didn't remember at all. Glancing at the shops, he noticed the plethora of chocolates, roses, and wines on display. Arthur arched an eyebrow, wondering if there was some kind sale or promotion, before he was stopped by an elderly woman at a floral shop. "Young man," she addressed him kindly, gesturing for him to approach her. Her frail voice was accented with a dialect suggestive of her origins in South-east England, and her white hair was pulled into a tight bun at the top of her head. Her frame was entirely petite, barely reaching Arthur's shoulders, and clothed with plain attire - a pastel coloured blouse and knit sweater, a deep maroon long skirt, and a pastel shawl - and a pair of round glasses.

At any rate, Arthur didn't have any reason not to entertain a conversation with her since he was usually early for school anyway and thereby obliged, humouring the elder. "Would you care to buy some flowers for your Valentine?" Valentine's Day! That was what he forgot? "You're quite the handsome young man; you remind me of my son when he was young! I wouldn't be surprised if you had one or two girls in mind if you were anything like him!"

"Your son, madam?" Arthur repeated politely.

"Yes, yes! His name is Oliver, but now he is well in his late thirties without so much a bride or child! It breaks my heart!" The elder sighed and peered curiously into Arthur's visage. "How strange! You have the same eyes as a woman he had fancied once upon a time!"

"Do I?" Arthur mused courteously. "All of my brothers - well, except for my little brother, Peter - have eyes like mine. We inherited it from my mother's side of the line."

"Oh, how wonderful!" she exclaimed. "They're like emeralds particular to only one noble family!"

"I wouldn't go so far to call ourselves 'noble,' madam," Arthur responded weakly with a faint smile.

"Oh, rubbish! You're such a kind, polite boy! Oliver used to be quite genteel as well until he became busy with work!" The elder woman pulled him into the floral shop and pressed a thornless rose into his hands. "I'll give you this for free since you remind me of my son!"

Arthur's eyes widened in surprise. "I can't accept this, madam!" the blond pleaded, trying to return the rose. "I... Actually, I don't believe in Valentine's Day. Not in the modern tense, at least."

The elder woman frowned. "Do you care for some tea, young man?" she inquired.

"That would be lovely, but I'm running late - "

"Oh, yes, yes, school!" she interjected. "I'll call them to inform someone that you'll be helping an old lady with heavy crates! That's not at all a lie, you know! We can talk while you lift!" She gestured for Arthur to follow her to the back of her shop, where she had boxes of porcelain and marble vases filled with exotic flowers. "My girls and I ordered arranged these last night for today's sales, but they're too heavy for us to carry."

Arthur gave her a polite smile. "Right away, madam," he responded, setting down his school bag to get to work. The sooner, the better.

"So tell me, young man, what is your name?"

"Arthur," he responded. "Arthur Kirkland."

"What a wonderful name," she mused. "Mine is Abigail Rowland. After whom, may I ask, were you named 'Arthur'?"

"The fabled king, Mrs Rowland," Arthur replied politely as he lifted the crate to the front, where he began setting them on display. "That, and my mother was a fan of Sherlock Holmes."

"Was she now?" Mrs Rowland chuckled. "I would get along with your mother, I believe. I named Oliver after Oliver Twist. What is she like?"

"She was very elegant woman though headstrong in her right," Arthur recalled with a nostalgic smile. "She died about seven years ago giving birth to Peter."

"I'm sorry for your loss," she replied.

"No, it's... It's been a long time already, madam."

"Would you take a rose to her at the very least?"

Arthur smiled softly. "I would, madam."

"Now," the elder woman mused, "why don't you believe in Valentine's Day, Arthur?"

The blond pursed his lips and responded, "It's far too commercialised recently after America spread it overseas. I feel like it's now a mass scheme for greeting card companies and chocolate manufacturers all over the world to reap in the profits. Additionally, the fact that it's noted as the _one_ day of the entire year to express one's love is entirely ridiculous. If one truly loves another, then shouldn't that always be expressed? Valentine's Day lost its meaning and purpose."

That was when the old woman laughed. She patted Arthur's arm and mused, "You are already a bit of a cynic, aren't you, lad? How sad! You are so young! Belt up, Arthur, and listen: it doesn't mean that Valentine's Day _shouldn't_ be celebrated, does it? Yes, people should love each other every day, but because it is this one day in the entire year, Valentine's Day makes everything _especially_ special. You love them already, and now you love them more. You shower them with affection already, and now you lavish them. It's a day to prove yourself and your affections, and by giving it a title, it makes it even more special. Perhaps it has lost its original meaning throughout the years as a result of globalisation, but change is relevant to the times. Right now, you've a lover to please. Understood?"

Arthur smiled. This old lady was like a caring grandmother. He had never known his grandparents, but he assumed they would be something like this. "I suppose," he replied hesitantly. The elder woman did have a point. For a moment, he paused and considered something, "Do you... have the national flower of Italy here per chance, Mrs Rowland?"

She blinked. "It depends. What is the national flower of Italy?"

Arthur was quick to reply, "Lilies."

Mrs Rowland smiled. "Your lover is Italian?"

He blushed. "Err, yes, h - _my lover _- is Italian."

"I believe I can prepare something for you! Come pick it up after school, all right, lad?"

Meanwhile, Lovino pocketed the rectangular box of chocolate into his school bag. It was elegant in design, with a smooth creamy brown surface and ivory bottom. The box was topped off with a white lace ribbon tied into a perfect bow that Lovino spent hours tying and untying and tying again. "_Fratello_!" Feliciano cried from the living room. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah, just shut up already, dammit!" Lovino responded gruffly, slinging his school bag over his shoulder. The older twin stomped down the stairs, already infuriated, to join with his brother. Feliciano had already raced to the door then and was already walking side by side with the stupid potato head. With annoyance, Lovino watched from behind as Ludwig failed to give a straight answer after eating one of the chocolates in the decorative bag Feliciano gave him. Instead, the potato eater was commenting on how the taste was not too sweet but not quite bitter. Dammit, all Feliciano asked was if it was good or not! Stop dodging the question! This is one of the reasons why Lovino couldn't stand the bastard!

Finally, they arrived at the school, and Lovino was quick to abandon his little brother as he fretted over Ludwig. The older Vargas raced up three flights of stairs and skidded to a halt in front of new S-Class. Having won the "Best Event" contest at the winter festival, the chairman heard their request to be moved to a bigger, more spacious classroom. The former E classroom, a demolished room that was never fixed up, was then renovated over the winter break to house the top ten students of the school. The door was then jerked open just as Lovino reached out for it. Gilbert stared at Lovino with confusion clear in his red eyes before smirking, "You looking for Artie, Vargas?"

Lovino growled. "So what if I am?"

"You're looking in the wrong place," Gilbert responded blandly. "He's not here yet. I heard the teach say that he got stuck helping the elderly cross the road or something."

"Don't give me that bullshit."

"I'm not," Gilbert assured as the smirk across his lips stretched even wider with pure and utter mirth. "You have something for Arthur? I can pass on the message, if you like. You can trust the awesome me!"

"Back off, bastard!"

Lovino stormed off the third floor to retreat to his own classroom. He'll have to see the bastard during lunch then. Of course, class couldn't have gone by any faster - if anything, it seemed slower - and Lovino was getting antsy. Fucking hell, the chocolate was practically burning a hole in his bag, and he just wanted to get everything over with so that he didn't have to deal with that shit anymore! It was still fucking cold in February though, so they were still stuck in the library. Damn! What if there was somebody there with them today? Although almost nobody goes into the library, there was always a chance that they wouldn't be alone for once! After all that shit he went through regarding his "engagement ring," (at the mention of his ring, Lovino's fingers fiddled with the platinum band absentmindedly) he would have to go through Hell and back regarding Valentine's chocolate.

"Ve, _Fratello_, are you okay?" Feliciano inquired of his older brother. "It's lunch time."

At this, Lovino shot up in his seat, almost knocking back his chair, and caught the attention of his classmates. Despite the heated blush on his cheeks, he ignored the others and scrambled out of the classroom with only his school bag. Glancing suspiciously outside the library doors, Lovino shuffled inside. Upon laying his eyes on the blond hidden behind a mound of books, Lovino pulled out the box of chocolates from his bag and approached Arthur hastily, slamming the box in front of Arthur. He himself flinched at the sound, and, silently, he prayed that the chocolates wouldn't be broken from the impact.

Arthur raised his eyes from his book gradually and arched an inquisitive eyebrow. "Yes, you grumpy little git?"

"It's not like I made it just for you, bastard!" Lovino snapped exasperatedly, growing even redder and redder until he was the color of his delicious tomatoes. "I wanted some chocolate and figured that I might as well give you some, too, okay? Don't get the wrong fucking idea, dammit!"

The blond snorted and responded just as kindly, "Then you can eat the chocolates yourself, wanker, if you wanted to eat them so badly. You don't have to mind me. Moreover, I'm not even a fan of chocolate; did you even consider - Oi!" Arthur's eyes widened as guilt rampaged through his body upon seeing Lovino's tearful eyes and the disappointment on his visage. "W-What's with that face? A-Are you crying? Ah, d-don't cry, luv, all right? I'll eat it - the chocolates! - whatever you want, okay? All right?"

Lovino sniffed, trying to disguise it as a huff, as he blinked away his tears. "Bastard! Who the fuck is _crying_?! Do whatever you want!" Still, he sat down across from Arthur, watching as the blond unwrapped the box with anticipation pooling in his stomach. From the dead weight in his stomach, fluttering wings erupted upon sighting the tender smile gracing Arthur's lips.

"You made all of this?"

"Not for you, dammit."

"Of course," Arthur replied shortly before picking up a piece of chocolate and biting into it. Lovino assumed from the glimmering green that it was delicious, but that wasn't enough for him. He needed to hear it, but when Arthur didn't comment, the Italian became worried.

"Hey, bastard... Is it good?"

At that, Arthur hooked his foot underneath Lovino's chair, pulling the Italian closer. Without giving him time to respond, the blond lifted the younger boy's chin, cupped his face, and snaked his tongue past those plush lips. Lovino was quick to relax and even faster to respond, wrapping his arms around Arthur's neck to bring him closer, moaning when he felt Arthur's sweet tongue brush against his. There was a faint chocolate after taste as they pulled away for oxygen.

"What do you think?" the Briton teased, bringing Lovino closer by the waist, whispering in his ear. He pressed soft, chaste kisses against the red blush coating Lovino's cheeks as though to devour the most delicious colour.

"D-Dammit, bastard," the Italian hissed, flushing a deeper scarlet, as he attempted to push his lover away. "N-Not here... But, seriously, h-how... how was it?"

"It was sweet," Arthur answered, biting into another chocolate with a smirk. "Want to share? I can't finish it by myself." Lovino hung his head at the offer to hide the furious vermillion of his cheeks behind the curtain of his bangs and instinctively jumped out of his seat when he heard a shelf of books collapse. They immediately turned their heads to find Elizaveta standing there holding a reference book, just as red-faced as Lovino but for another reason entirely. She gave a weak, sheepish chuckle before waving her fingers goodbye and sprinting out of the library.

"_Chigiii_!"

* * *

"Mrs Rowland?" Arthur called into the floral shop as he poked his head inside. "Are you here? It's me, Arthur, Arthur Kirkland! I'm here to pick up my order." The blond stepped into the shop, searching for the elder florist, before being approached by an older man. The man in question had reddish blond hair as vibrant as Arthur's but much more tamed, and his eyebrows were not quite as thick as Arthur's either. Unlike Arthur's his eyes were a shade of bright blue, and his skin was speckled with light freckles. He wore a light grey jumper over a salmon coloured button shirt with khaki trousers as well. "Good afternoon," Arthur greeted the older man with a handshake. "How do you do?"

"Fine, thank you," the older man replied, his voice possessing the same dialect as Mrs Rowland. "How about yourself? Having a good Valentine's Day?"

"It was wonderful, thanks for asking. Err, is Mrs Rowland in?"

"Mrs Rowland?" the man was sceptical before realisation dawned upon him. "Oh, right! You must be looking for my mother. I had her go home since she's been carrying those vases - " he pointed to the display with which Arthur had helped earlier in the morning " - to the customers all day and nearly threw out her back. I came down from the office to help her, actually, until her employees come. My name is Oliver Rowland." The man stretched out his hand for another handshake before retracting it sheepishly. Instead, he occupied his hand with rubbing the back of his neck. "Right, we just shook. Sorry about that."

"Oh, no problem, Mr Rowland," Arthur responded politely with a courteous smile. "Is my order still on hold though?"

"It should be since I've not yet touched a single one of them, and call me - " the older man paused abruptly as though to stop himself from getting too carried away with speaking " - call me Oliver. I might be twice your age, but 'Mr Rowland' makes me feel old. Plus, it's my father's name. You wouldn't want anyone to call you by your father's name, would you?"

"I suppose I would feel that way," Arthur responded awkwardly before adding mentally, if I had a father - around, that is. He followed Oliver to the display case with all of the bouquets - each wrapped in plastic or potted in vases - before the older blond began scouring the order forms.

"You said your name was...?"

"Arthur Kirkland."

"Kirkland..." Oliver muttered before stealing a peek at Arthur's face.

"Is something the matter?"

"Ah, no, not at all," Oliver responded. "You just look like someone I know - _knew _- is all. Anyway, your order number is 11423512—the bouquet of cyclamens, daisies, and lilies, right? Just sit tight while I look for them." The older man turned to the display case before opening the glass and flipping over tags to look at the order numbers. He roamed through a multitude of bouquets consisting of a dozen passionately red roses before pulling out Arthur's request. "Here we are!" he chirped, handing them over to Arthur. "It's quite an odd request on Valentine's Day, isn't it?"

"Ah, well, my lover is Italian, so I picked out the national flowers - or, at least, the flowers associated with Italy - to give to them."

"A boy?"

Arthur flushed.

Oliver smiled and patted his head. "It's okay, son! I don't judge! I figured that would be the reason why you didn't voice the gender," he chirruped. "Anyway, my mother marked that you've already paid for the bouquet, so you can be on your merry way now!"

"W-What? But I told her that I would come back later and pay at the register - " Arthur was interrupted by Oliver's warm, fatherly smile breaking onto his lips.

"My mother does this for people she likes, so just accept her act of good intentions," Oliver mused. "If it bothers you that much, then I'll pay for it - "

"You couldn't! I mean, you can't possibly do that, sir! I'm flattered, but I have the money - "

"Ah, ah!" Oliver tutted before flicking his hand towards the door. "Just go, Arthur!" His smile became somewhat bitter-sweet. "Let us do this one thing, all right? If it bothers you that much, think of it as payment for helping her this morning. Happy Valentine's Day to you and your love." Unable to argue any more, Arthur trekked out of the floral shop with a grateful thank you, cradling the white flowers in his arms. He was oblivious to the dismayed sigh that left Oliver's lips as soon as he had stepped out of the floral shop.

Arthur sauntered down the pavement, following a familiar path to the pizzeria where Lovino was employed. He checked the time on his phone and found that it was nearing four o'clock already. Picking up his pace, the blond managed to catch Lovino just as the brunet walked out the front doors. Without a moment's hesitation, Arthur shoved the bouquet in front of his lover's face.

Lovino jumped three feet in the air, startled by the action, before gingerly taking the offered bouquet. Wrapped in the white plastic sleeve, printed with red and white hearts, was a bundle of white flowers - cyclamen, daisies, and lilies - tied together with a tricolour ribbon.

"Did you know," Arthur began softly, taking Lovino's left hand into his right, as he pulled the Italian along the path leading back to the flat, "in the language of flowers cyclamens mean diffidence, daisies represent innocence, and lilies, depending on the colour, can mean beauty, elegance, sweetness, and/or purity? They're just like you, Lovino, but with a little less bark and bite." He chuckled.

"No roses, bastard?"

"I figured you'd like these better."

Lovino smiled. "I do."

"Happy Valentine's Day, my little ankle-biter."

* * *

**A/N:** If you don't know about _La Festa Degli Innamorati_, you should look it up! It's quite adorable! I considered writing about it, but Lovino seems a little too meek for that, still, to be able to pull off public displays of affection.

About 2p!England (if you can guess his role in the story, I applaud you!) and his name: yes, I chose the most popular one on the Internet, Oliver, because I thought immediately of _Oliver Twist_. There's really not _much_ of a relation between Dickens' novel and Oliver's character, so I wouldn't really read that much into it, ha. In regards to Rowland, I googled the name "Kirkland" and came up with the home decor retailer as well as a city, well, more like a suburb of Seattle, in Washington state. Its sister city is Emmerich, Germany, and when I googled that name, the first thing that popped up was a German director with the name Roland. There's a fairy tale based off a Scottish ballad called _Childe Rowland_. Oh, the wonders of the Internet!


	32. Chapter 32 - Seventeen

**Chapter Thirty-Two: Seventeen**

Lovino has been watching Arthur very carefully, for one misstep could possibly reveal the blond's hand... However, no, Arthur hasn't had any slip-up since the moment he walked onto campus. While everyone else showered birthdays onto the Vargas twins (mostly Feliciano, but whatever), Arthur hadn't even uttered a single word regarding the date. Not in the morning. Not at lunch. Not even after school.

At home, Lovino slouched at his desk, slumping in his computer chair, while balancing a mechanical pencil on top of his upper lip and right below his nose. His mind was completely overwhelmed with a surge of thoughts ranging from his birthday to his future to Arthur. He was seventeen today, and all that meant was that he would no longer be tried as a minor in court and that he was allowed to purchase alcohol legally now (in Hetalia and a few other European countries, at least). Of course, that also meant that he was one year closer to becoming a legal adult, which was somewhat irritating. After all, he was no longer tried as a minor, but he wasn't an adult? What bullshit.

Anyway, right before class ended, the homeroom teacher dumped some reflective crap onto them that was to be turned into her tomorrow morning for a completion grade. Lovino figured he could just slap some bullshit for the answers, but then he realized that what he wrote down may actually have some impact in the classes he was supposed to take for the next academic year. If he wrote down the wrong thing, they might put him in the classes with the shit-for-brains morons or classes that focused on manual labor... Or maybe he was being too dramatic.

"_Chigi_!" Lovino shrilled as he fell backwards in his computer chair from having leaned back much too far. The pencil flew off his face and dropped onto the floor.

The loud clatter was accompanied by the rumbling of thundering footsteps pounding up the stairs and the deafening bang of the door slamming against the wall. Feliciano was panting heavily, having just sprinted up the stairs and rounding the corner, as the younger Vargas inquired, "_Fratello_, are you okay?!" The urgency in his voice faded into confusion as he stared at his older brother lying in an upturned chair. "Ve, why are you on the floor?"

Lovino grimaced and snapped bitterly, "_Stai zitto_!" He propped himself onto his elbows before hauling his body back onto his feet, flinching when he stepped on the plastic body of his pencil and cracked it into two pieces. Biting his tongue to refrain from bursting into a fit, Lovino heaved the chair into its rightful position. The older twin sank into his chair again and glared indignantly at the first question of the survey, "Do you plan to pursue further education after graduating from secondary school?"

Lovino could circle the option for yes for that since his grandfather did not give them any leeway with that. The old man was adamant on having his grandsons attend college. It was the next question that stumped him, "If yes, where do you plan to attend tertiary education?" Well, fuck, he hadn't thought of anything beyond, "Yes, bastards, I'm going to college." Against his better judgment, Lovino leaned reclined in his seat and asked Feliciano, "Hey, _idiota_, where are you planning on going to school?"

"Ve, wherever Ludwig is going!" Feliciano chirped merrily. "He's my best friend, you know? He's going to help me study so that we get accepted together, ve!"

Lovino palmed his forehead and clicked his tongue, grumbling, "Forget I asked." He considered that option though. Could he just apply to the same school as his brother? Then again, Lovino didn't want to have to deal with Feliciano and his potato drama for the rest of his life, so it might be better to try splitting with his brother sooner than later - just to get some distance between them like a trial run or something. Maybe, just maybe, he could apply to the same school as Arthur? Ah, no, that wouldn't work. Fucking Arthur was going to be attending a music school or some shit, and Lovino didn't know how to play an instrument or how to fucking sing or dance or whatever.

Skipping to the next question, Lovino's eyes skimmed through the next inquiry to have more time to brainstorm. However, contrary to what he would have liked, Lovino ended up reading that question one or two more times - maybe even three or four or five times - before burying his head underneath his arms.

"What do you aspire to be in the future?"

Dammit, dammit, dammit! All he could think was that - Lovino flushed a deep red at the thought - he wanted to be together with Arthur for as long as he lived. Fuck, that wasn't a legitimate answer, was it?

"Are you on question three, _Fratello_?" Feliciano inquired, peering over Lovino's shoulder. "For that one, I put that I wanted to be Ludwig's bestest friend ever, ve!"

Shit, shit, shit! He was turning into his brother! What "I want to be with Arthur forever"?! That was no better than "I want to be Ludwig's bestest friend ever"! No, Lovino told himself, calm down, you dumb little bastard. Huffing haughtily, the older Vargas twin remarked, "That's stupid, Feli."

"How is it stupid, ve? I was just being honest!" Feliciano pouted before reminding his brother, "_Nonno_ wanted me to tell you that we're having our birthday dinner tonight at _Signor _Lorenzo's restaurant, ve, and then we can celebrate with our friends over the weekend! I invited Ludwig to join us, okay?" Frowning slightly, Feliciano begrudgingly mentioned, "You can invite Artù, too, _Fratello_, if you want."

"I will, dammit," Lovino remarked dryly. Although Feliciano seemed to have loosen up some when it came to Arthur, there was no doubt that the younger twin was still cautious and weary when it came to the Briton, but, whatever, it didn't bother Lovino... that much, anyway. Hazel eyes narrowed at the nearly blank piece of paper before, out of frustration, he grabbed his phone and dialed Arthur's number. It was an emergency, dammit!

"_Hello?_"

"Bastard, this is a fucking important question. What did you want to be when you grow up?"

There was silence on the other line.

"Bastard?"

"_A magician._"

"What?"

"_That's what I wanted to be when I grow up; it was either that or a pirate,_" Arthur answered shortly with a snort. "_Really, what brought this up, git?_"

Lovino began twirling a new pencil - wooden this time - around his fingers and responded, "Stupid survey for school... Anyway, you're serious? A-A fucking _magician_? A pirate?"

"_I was a brat! It wasn't as if you didn't have those kinds of thoughts before!_"

"I didn't," Lovino asserted firmly. Thinking back, he couldn't ever remember wanting to be something or someone. The older Vargas was content as long as he had tomatoes or pizzas growing up. He never really thought about what he wanted to do for a living. "It's kind of sad, but I didn't really have much ambition... I can't take this damn survey seriously."

"_But you want to? Take it seriously, I mean._"

"Yeah," the Italian answered, putting his head onto his arms, as his eyes ran over the words again. "If I don't take it seriously now, when am I going to take it seriously? It's going to be my third year soon, and..." Lovino paused. Arthur wouldn't be there anymore, would he? The brunet sighed. "I feel like I don't have much time left."

"_Don't rush yourself,_" Arthur advised sagely. "_It may seem like there's no time left, but you actually have all the time in the world. It's just best, usually, for people to begin where you are now._" The both of them were quiet, allowing the words to sink past their skins and into their being. Arthur spoke again, "_I never did tell you why I applied to a university that focused heavily on law, did I_?"

"No, bastard," Lovino replied, "you didn't."

"_It wasn't just law. I was thinking about applying to another school for an engineering major and another school for a pursuit in the medical field_," Arthur confessed. "_I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life either, so I went with the most generic options: lawyer, engineer, and doctor. In the end, I decided to pursue law because it felt like the easiest option for me. You know what I answered the survey back then?_"

"What?"

"_I want to be whatever I _will _want to be,_" Arthur answered sheepishly. "_You're not the only one who was at a loss answering those bloody questions. I know that I'm considered decent at a lot of things, but my interests were always fleeting. Honestly, I was kind of happy I got rejected by that university in Cambridge; I didn't quite want to do something half-arsed. Rather, I never had the nerve to do want I really wanted to do._"

Lovino was quiet before asking, "What are you saying, bastard?"

"_Simply put: if you want to pursue a career that you're good at, go ahead. I can't guarantee it would make you happy though_." Arthur laughed. As he spoke, Lovino began scribbling an answer onto the white sheet of paper. "_I really owe it to Victoria. I... I never thought I would get a chance to perform again. I probably won't get much out of a programme in music when it comes to the job market, but... I think it's fine this way. Just know that whatever you write on that paper, Lovino, is not permanent. It's not what you _have _to do; it's what you think you _might _do._"

"Thanks, bastard."

"_Was I actually of any help?_"

"Yeah, I got it from here."

"_All right, if you're sure._"

"And bastard?"

"_Yes, git?_"

"You want to join us for dinner tonight at eight? We're going to eat at some high-class restaurant; my _Nonno_ made reservations for five." Lovino's cheeks flushed. The Vargas elder probably assumed - correctly - that his sons were planning to bring a date or something.

"_If you let me take you out for the night. Consider it a date after you dine with your family._"

Lovino smiled. "You have a deal," the Italian acquiesced before ending the call. He set down the pencil and beamed at his answer, a simple, "Fuck this shit. I'll do whatever I want." All he really wanted was to be together with Arthur. He wanted to live in the same apartment and eat the same meals, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He wanted to be with Arthur, and, dammit, if he sounded like his little brother, then whatever. He couldn't think of anything else for his future anyway.

Later that evening, he changed into a more suitable outfit consisting of a casual white cotton shirt with the buttons loosely done, a black blazer with a silk scarf, dark khakis, and his Armani boots. Honestly, he didn't know where Arthur would take him, but knowing his lover's style, it couldn't possibly be somewhere exceptionally extravagant. From experience, he saw that Arthur enjoyed the simpler things in life: if you could fry it, you could eat it. Lovino snorted - fried shrimp, fried calamari, fried mushrooms, fried artichoke, fried fish, fried eggs and sausage and bacon - and decided that he would take charge of his lover's diet from now on. Hopefully, Lovino's cooking had influenced his palate some. He didn't need Arthur's arteries getting clogged by those fucking calories.

Shuffling downstairs with everything he needed, he found Ludwig and Feliciano chattering away in the living room, much to his annoyance, before his grandfather entered the scene, booming, "Happy birthday, my little _bambini_! Oh, you're growing up so fast! _Diciassette anni già!_ Soon, you'll be married - " at this, he winked at Lovino, who flushed at the suggestion " - and raising little families on your own!"

"_Nonno_!" Lovino shrieked, hiding his face in embarrassment. Family? It wasn't biologically possible with two men! They could adopt, and adopting did sound nice... But... But would Arthur want to adopt? Of course, he would! The bastard already took in strays off the streets! Still, the older twin was rather intimidated by the aspect of starting a family. It was comfortable with just the two of them for now, after all, so how would a child affect all of that? "Let's just go, dammit. Arthur says that he'll meet us at the restaurant."

"Alright, alright!" Grandpa Rome chirped, conceding to the older by ten minutes birthday boy, as he swung an arm around Lovino's shoulders and led the party to the Lancia waiting outside. "Let's go! _Andiamo_!" After everyone buckled up safely, Grandpa Rome quickly navigated and maneuvered to a five-star Italian restaurant located downtown, where Arthur was waiting outside, his motorcycle parked just out front, with a helmet tucked under his arm. The blond was dressed sharply - _incredibly _sharply - in a white button shirt, black silk tie, finished with a black waistcoat, blazer, trousers, and Oxfords. Rather, he was especially sharp that Lovino hadn't even recognized him at first glance - until he noticed the eyebrows - because Arthur had slicked back a good majority of his hair cleanly. A few rebellious strands fell in front of his forehead or stubbornly stuck out of the style that he attempted, retaining a sort of disheveled image though different from his usual unkempt appearance. It was gorgeous and pretty damn sexy.

"B-B-Bastard?" Lovino stammered out from the initial shock.

"How rude," Arthur responded in that polished Queen's English, smirking at Lovino's flustered state, "and after I've tried to clean up for you, my darling little spitfire." He lifted Lovino's chin upwards and pressed a discreet, fleeting kiss to the Italian's temple before the younger boy had a chance to react. "Seventeen on the seventeenth of March," he mused, "congratulations."

Stepping aside from Lovino, he shook hands with his grandfather and Ludwig before greeting Feliciano with an amiable smile, knowing that the latter wouldn't fathom a handshake. Much to his surprise, however, Feliciano had pulled him into a hug, but that action was accompanied with a little warning, "Don't hurt my _fratello_ ever again."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Arthur responded just as brusquely and just as quietly. Still, the Briton thought to himself, that didn't mean that it wouldn't happen. It was in his nature to fight, and it was also in Lovino's nature as well. They were quarrelsome with tempers both bad and short, and they were, as Mr Vargas had mentioned at their first dinner together, both dishonest. Clashes were bound to happen, but Arthur was determined to resolve any conflict that would potentially arise.

Together, the party of five entered the restaurant with Mr Vargas at the lead. After greeting the hostess, who offered to take care of Arthur's helmet while they dined, they were escorted to a circular booth, where Feliciano and Ludwig occupied one end and Lovino and Arthur the other. Mr Vargas sat between the two groups, content with being seated between his adorable grandsons. Menus were passed down the table by the server, who would return later for their drink orders. Of course, without protest, Mr Vargas had vouched for a bottle of Chianti - except for Ludwig, who was still a minor and who insisted that he would drink water so not to cause trouble.

"What are you eating, bastard?"

"I'm leaving that to you," Arthur responded casually. "You know I'm not much of a gourmet, Lovino, and that I trust you when it comes to these things - matching wines to foods and my preferences."

"Please, as long as you're not eating snails or frogs, you're fine with anything, bastard," Lovino grumbled.

"So I'm easy."

"You're _what_?"

"I'm not a picky eater, git. What did you think I meant?"

Lovino's cheeks flushed. "Nothing," he grunted before voicing his input on the meal. Arthur smiled and held his hand under the table where nobody would be able to see them. He beamed, hiding a smile behind his hand, as he felt Lovino return his hold. Ludwig seemed to be observing them with mild intrigue though, so Arthur gave him a little wink about which only the two of them would know. While the Vargas family was distracted with discussing appetisers and _primo_ or _secondo piatto_ as well as salads, soups, and desserts, Arthur pressed a single forefinger to his lips in a silencing motion. Ludwig nodded stiffly. Although his relationship with Lovino was no secret, the Briton was well aware that his lover would appreciate the privacy.

* * *

"Thanks for the meal, Mr Vargas," Arthur chirped as soon as the five of them left the restaurant. "It was most delicious!"

"Better than my cooking, bastard?" Lovino snapped.

"Never!" Arthur chimed, pulling Lovino close for a brief one-armed hug since his other arm was occupied with his helmet, not caring if the latter would be upset at the fleeting touch. He was in a jolly good mood, and he'd be damned if he let anything ruin it. He hummed contently and thought aloud, "So _this _is what a birthday dinner feels like!" Nobody broached that topic. Lovino already knew about his family history and did not want to bring it up, and his grandfather had a good idea of what happened in Arthur's past though this was not the time and place for such confrontation. Neither Ludwig nor Feliciano knew how to respond to that odd exclamation though. Grasping hold of Lovino's hand, the blond laced their fingers together and smiled adoringly at his lover. "Ready for our date?"

Lovino nodded shyly and hid their hands away from anyone's view. The night was already dark, however, so that wasn't such a difficult task. The older Vargas twin's cheeks were glowing red though, and Lovino wasn't sure if the darkness could mask the deep color.

"Are you leaving already? Can you drive?" Mr Vargas inquired with concern evident in his eyes.

"It's been two hours since I had my first and only drink, and I ate plenty of food to lower its effects," Arthur assured. "My accident didn't leave me with any traumatic experiences either." He ignored the shock that spread across Ludwig's visage. The younger Beilschmidt probably didn't know; Gilbert kept such details confidential, after all, as a trustworthy friend. "I'll be fine, and I'll make sure that Lovino stays safe. I swear on my mother's name that I'll bring him home before midnight as well!"

Mr Vargas smiled and patted his shoulder. "You're a good kid, Artù, but you don't need to swear on your _mamma_'s name," the elder mused. "You can even take him home with you! Just take care of him, _capito_?" He ushered his younger grandson and his friend to the Lancia, humming a song about Heaven and Hell in which the British were cops and the Italians were lovers - at least in Heaven. Arthur and Lovino saw them off as they went to drop off Ludwig at his home.

Arthur shuffled to his motorcycle and unlocked the small boot he had procured onto the back of the bike, pulling out a helmet for Lovino to use. The Italian slipped it over his head before Arthur secured it with a wide grin on his lips. "Bastard," Lovino grunted, "you're acting weird."

"Am I? I'm just excited," Arthur confessed sheepishly before running a hand through his hair, raking it out of the style he had, and securing his own helmet. He threw a leg over the side of the bike and started the engine. The moment it began purring with life, the Briton patted the spot behind him, and Lovino gradually boarded the vehicle, shyly wrapping his arms around Arthur's middle before tightening his hold once they began moving. Eventually, Arthur pulled in front of an English pub with which Lovino was not familiar. Shutting the engine, Arthur then helped his lover off the bike and pulled off his helmet. "You've never been to a pub before?" he asked, beaming.

"They usually don't even let me in without someone twenty-one years or older," Lovino muttered.

Arthur's smile widened. "That makes this your first time," he concluded. He pulled Lovino into the pub, the smile lingering on his lips all the time, musing only a single word, "Brilliant."

"What the hell are you up to, bastard?"

"I'll tell you in a little bit! Come, have a seat!" Arthur chirped, leading him to the bar counter. He took a seat at one of the stools, and Lovino hesitantly joined him. "Boss! A pint of ale, please, my usual!"

"Arthur!" Cameron boomed before smiling amicably at Lovino. "I believe we've met before?"

Lovino nodded slowly. "A-At the hospital," he answered, recalling the dark skinned man who called himself Arthur's employer at the time. "I'm Lovino Vargas."

"I know," Cameron mused, winking mischievously. "Arthur talks about you often even when he was employed here. He probably never mentions anything about me to you though! My name is Cameron; sorry we had to meet for the first time under those circumstances."

"It's... It's nobody's fault," Lovino assured, reciting Arthur's words of reassurance. The blond smiled gently at the Italian, making him flush. "You talk about me, bastard?" the brunet muttered, kicking Arthur's leg vehemently.

"All the time," Cameron confirmed with a teasing grin. "If I remember correctly, one of the things he said was, 'Lovino only cooks Italian food. I miss fish and chips'!"

Lovino narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his spluttering boyfriend. "Bastard," he hissed, collaring Arthur's shirt and pulling him forward with a single yank, "fish and chips is better than my cooking?"

"Did I say _that_?" Arthur remarked, anxiety forgotten, as he grasped Lovino's wrist with a single hand. "No, I didn't, you git. I was just reminiscing! Am I not allowed to do that?"

"Why would you think about the past when you have me right in front of you?" Lovino spat indignantly, seething with vengeful anger. "Are you trying to say that I was a mistake or something?"

"For Pete's sake, Lovino, stop jumping to conclusions!" the Briton snapped. "Fish and chips was something I ate with _my mother_! There were food trucks everywhere, so we always stopped by one of them to pick up something to eat - usually fish and chips!" His features softened when he saw the shame crossing Lovino's face. The hold he held on Lovino's wrist slackened some, and he easily pried the fingers off the fabric of his shirt. "There's no one else but you, git," Arthur assured. "You need to have some more confidence in yourself, Lovino. Haven't I told you that before? You are the only one for me."

Cameron set down a pint of ale in front of them with a courteous smile. He turned to Lovino and promptly apologised, "I meant little harm; it was only playful teasing. That's how we are around here." The bartender excused himself and began tending to some other clients who entered the pub. "Most of them are regular customers."

Arthur slid the pint of ale towards Lovino. "Have you ever had ale?" the Briton inquired curiously.

"Not at all," Lovino replied shortly, still avoiding Arthur's gaze, "but it smells disgusting."

Arthur laughed. "Isn't that the truth? You ought to try it though; I ordered it for you," the blond insisted. Tapping his fingers against the counter apprehensively, uncertain of Lovino's response, he began to explain his intentions, "Since you're seventeen now, I... I figured that I would take you to your first pub and buy you your first drink. It might not be your first time with alcohol since you already drink a bit of wine under your grandfather's supervision, but... I want to be your first... for a lot of things, Lovino." Arthur's emeralds were downcast, and a faint red coat tinged his cheeks, inflaming the pale skin, as he was unable to face Lovino now. He was oblivious that the blush on Lovino's cheeks was a match to his own.

"Arthur," Lovino addressed him shortly, choking on the name, with a bundle of nerves knotting all throughout his body. When the Briton raised his eyes, he found Lovino trying to chug the pint of ale before promptly spitting it out, spraying the liquid all over the bar counter. Cameron raised an inquisitive eyebrow, humoured at the sight, before diligently wiping the mess off his counter. Arthur tried stifling his laughter, but the way his shoulders trembled was a dead giveaway to his amusement. Lovino glared maliciously at the blond, who was now burying his head underneath his arms, shoulders still shaking with silent laughter. "That tasted like piss, bastard!"

In the midst of his laughter, Arthur managed to rasp out, "I figured you would hate something Gilbert liked, but I still had to try! Happy birthday, you prickly little git! How about a cocktail instead, yeah?"

"Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Do you want to get drunk?"

Lovino glowered impatiently at the Briton, who only gave a sheepish smile in response. "Bastard, what are you trying to pull?"

"I told you," Arthur remarked, "I wanted to have all of your firsts - even if that includes your first hangover! At any rate, I'm going to make your first pub experience a damn good one! You like tomatoes, right? Cameron, how about a Bloody Maria?"

"Bloody Maria?" Lovino repeated.

"Figured you might appreciate tequila more than vodka with tomatoes," Arthur responded with a smile. "Don't worry, my darling little spitfire; I'll look out for you. Look, I haven't a bloody drink myself!"

"You've only ordered two drinks, Arthur," Cameron reminded as he began preparing the ingredients - hidden from Lovino's eyes - over ice. "I wouldn't be surprised if you ordered a vodka martini sometime soon." He then added, impersonating Arthur's accent, "Shaken, not stirred." He poured in a good mix of tequila for a new drinker like Lovino and topped the mixture with plenty of tomato juice. He poured the drink into another glass, rolling the contents, and returned it back into the cocktail glass. Repeating the action once or twice, Cameron garnished the drink with a wedge of lime and a celery stalk before he finally served it to Lovino with a friendly smile.

"Bloody hell, I only said that once," Arthur remarked, "when Gilbert and Mathias told me to impersonate James Bond. I'm not that picky of a drinker." He paused. "Though a drink does sound pretty good right now."

Lovino snorted. "You can't drink, bastard," the Italian snapped, eyeing the cocktail in front of him, "since you're taking me back home, right?"

"Of course, darling."

Lovino elbowed him before sipping the drink. Unlike the beer from before, this cocktail had a curious taste. The tequila burned against his tongue, but it was smooth and blended well with the taste of tomatoes and - he could have sworn - _hot sauce_. The drink easily slid down the back of Lovino's throat, and he brought the glass to his lips before another curious taste. He absentmindedly ran a tongue over his lips, savoring the spiced, earthen taste, after finishing his first glass. Arthur had to pull his eyes away, flustered.

"Y-You like it?" Arthur stammered.

"That was pretty good, bastard," Lovino responded merrily, humming contently. "Can I have another one?"

Arthur laughed. "You want to try it with vodka this time? Or dark rum or akvavit? Or Irish whiskey or even gin?"

"Dammit, slow down, bastard." Lovino's cheeks reddened. "Are you drinking or me?"

Cameron laughed behind the counter, taking the cocktail glass with him to prepare another drink for Lovino. "I think we should start with the classic Bloody Mary first," the bartender suggested. "Then we can get a feel for which one he likes best."

"Are you okay with vodka, Lovino?"

"Whatever, bastard."

"One Bloody Mary, Boss!"

Later that night, nearing midnight by almost four minutes, Arthur had called a taxicab since his lover was in no state to ride on the back of his motorcycle. Arthur carried Lovino on his back, leaving his helmet along with his motorcycle at the pub to pick up tomorrow morning, before setting the drunk Italian into the back of the taxicab. He gave the driver the address to _L'Oiseau Bleu _before parting Lovino's tousled hair gingerly to gain a clear view of the younger boy's lovely face.

After paying the driver and hauling Lovino into the building, the blond carried his lover into the lift, pressing for the twelfth floor. He managed to get into the flat just fine and laid Lovino gently onto the bed. Arthur stripped the Italian of his jacket, scarf, and belt, knowing that Lovino would throw a fit if he stripped him entirely, before doing the same for himself. Elizabeth leapt onto the bed, snuggling into Lovino's side, before crinkling her nose at the smell of alcohol.

The blond dropped his trousers to the floor and stepped into a pair of joggers and pulled off his shirt, relaxing at the gentle caress of cool air circulating the room. He collapsed onto the bed beside Lovino, smiling like a blooming idiot, before running his fingers through Lovino's hair. "Happy birthday, little ankle-biter," Arthur chirped softly, pressing a kiss to Lovino's forehead. He was taken by surprise when hazel orbs fluttered open, staring at him through half-lidded eyes, and when Lovino pulled him closer by wrapping his arms around the blond's neck for another kiss.

"I'll kill you if I have a fucking hangover tomorrow, bastard."

"Of course," Arthur acquiesced with a sheepish smile, returning the kiss flavoured with tomato juice and liquor. "I'm all yours."

Arthur may not have had Lovino's first kiss, he may not have been Lovino's first date, and he may not have been Lovino's first man. Still, the blond was determined to give Lovino the most pleasurable experiences - from first drinks to first time - no matter how long he would have to wait because, after all, Lovino was his first real love. The end of the academic year is fast approaching, and Arthur wanted to spend as much time as possible with a certain little ankle-biter.


	33. Chapter 33 - Graduation

**Chapter Thirty-Three: Graduation**

Before they were allowed to leave for their two weeks of spring break, there was an entire week spent on final exams. Of course, that wasn't the only thing the school spent a week doing; a good number of staff and volunteers stayed after school hours to help prepare for graduation. Being the kind soul that he was, Feliciano offered his and his brother's help despite the fact that, after a long day of testing, all Lovino wanted to do was take a _siesta_. Ludwig was there, too, along with a couple of second year students and an overwhelming number of third year students who all wanted graduation to be perfect.

Currently, Lovino grimaced as he inflated a balloon with helium, glaring at the blown rubber and wanting to do nothing more than pop it. It wasn't like that was going to take all of his problems away though. Just because one balloon popped doesn't mean that graduation would be paused and that Arthur wouldn't have to walk to receive his diploma and would stay in high school for another year.

God, he was fucking stupid. Like that was ever going to happen.

Begrudgingly, Lovino tied the end of the balloon before any helium could escape and before any of the graduating girls would have his head for being so useless and clumsy. He laced a white ribbon onto the end and tied it to a paperweight before it would disappear into the atmosphere. Once he finished an entire set, someone came along to set the balloons somewhere in the gymnasium. Lovino glanced around the gym, noticing how it was now adorned with floating balloons, plastic flowers, streamers, and banners. With air freshener killing and cloaking the smell of sweat, blood, and tears, he could barely tell that it was the school gymnasium.

"Hey, Vargas!" Gilbert crowed from the entrance before addressing a few other guys. Among the names, Lovino recognized his brother's and the younger Beilschmidt. Behind the German student stood Antonio and Francis, all three of them were carrying metal folding chairs. "Help us out here! We need four sections each with four rows of eight chairs and ten chairs spaced evenly in the front! Then we need to set up another section, but I'll tell you what to do when we get there!"

"Where's Arthur?" Lovino inquired as he shuffled towards the Bad Friends trio, taking three folding chairs in each hand. Ludwig took four folding chairs in each hand, and Feliciano only bothered to carry two.

"He's got paperwork to do," Gilbert responded offhandedly with a shrug. Consequently, that caused the metal chairs he was still holding to clatter and clang against each other as other students came forth to volunteer. "It's something to do with the disciplinary committee. He might choose to dissolve it since there would only be Jia Long and Jones left as members, and he's not sure if he could trust them with the responsibility since Jia Long doesn't really care for it and Jones is... well, Alfred Fucking Jones. Anyway, Artie has to make a decision before we graduate."

As Gilbert spoke and informed Lovino of Arthur's most miserable situation, the Briton was stuck in a claustrophobic closet with Alfred begging him not to end the disciplinary committee. The Briton rubbed his temples in sheer annoyance, trying to relieve himself of the growing headache. Slamming a hand against the table and catching the American's attention, Arthur sighed and said, "You're only a first year student, and I don't expect you to mature in two weeks when you come back as a second year student. Besides, this 'committee' was formed just to keep _me_ in bloody observation." He gave Alfred a wry grin. "Wanker, you have the baseball club, don't you? You don't need to be in this disciplinary committee. It's not necessary for campus, and all this rubbish about - " Arthur gesticulated with his hand, grasping for the word " - about being a bloody _hero_ can be done without it as well. You don't need a title or a name to be a hero, you twit. Just do it, understood? This entire thing, this disciplinary committee, is only nominal. You wouldn't be a credible _hero _with it. I'm ending it." With that, Arthur stood up and strolled past Alfred, patting his shoulder. "But, you know, if it really means that much to you, you could always bring it up with the school board." He smiled when he saw Alfred beam with delight. "Take good care of this school, you little brat. I'll see you around."

"No!" Alfred protested. "This _isn't just nominal_, Arthur!" He threw a fist that was quickly blocked by Arthur. The Englishman grunted at the sudden force as he recalled a small detail he had nearly forgotten: Alfred was stronger than him. He always had been stronger than Arthur in terms of brute strength and raw power.

In retaliation, Arthur quickly leapt into the air, rotating his legs to land a kick on Alfred's chest. The American boy barely skid against the floor and quickly recovered. He charged at Arthur, and in the claustrophobic office, the Briton couldn't dodge his oncoming attack. He relaxed his body and absorbed the shock of Alfred slamming him against the door. The wooden surface gave away from the weight, and Arthur could hear it crack as it clattered to the floor below him. Alfred straddled his waist and lifted his fists to pound at Arthur, but the Briton instinctively brought his arms to block the attacks to his face.

Thrashing about the floor, the older student managed to hoist Alfred off his body and, with a powerful kick, propelled the younger boy back into the disciplinary committee's office. Alfred fell against the desk, sliding against its surface before dropping to the floor. Swiftly, he regained his ground and let out a desperate cry as he charged towards Arthur once again. Before the young Englishman was able to dodge the attack, Alfred's fist connected with the flesh of his abdomen, and he grimaced.

He felt it all in that last attack. Fear. Apprehension. Anxiety. Sorrow. Remorse.

"It's not the bloody end, you nitwit," Arthur grunted, shoving Alfred away from him with a wry smile. "There's no longer going to be a lion around to keep everyone in check, so you're going to have to be the damn hero, yeah? It's your bloody job to figure out how to do that - not mine." Stumbling away, hand against the wall as he attempted to regain his balance, Arthur made his way to the gymnasium.

Alfred scrambled to his feet and shouted after the Briton, "I'll make you proud, Artie! I promise!"

Arthur chuckled and tipped his hat, hiding the solemn expression that crossed his features. What an idiot, he mused wistfully. Although he would never admit it aloud, Arthur would miss Alfred and his silly antics. He was a good-to-honest chap, childishly idealistic but admirably kind-hearted, once you got past the obnoxious exterior. The Briton continued to gymnasium, where everyone was already setting up the chairs. Elizaveta waved him over to join her and Katyusha, Ivan's older and meeker sister. The two girls were preparing white carnations to pin onto the school uniforms for the graduating students with floral tape and pearl top pins. "There's just too many of these!" Elizaveta huffed before handing an armful of flowers to Arthur. "So get started!"

The Briton chuckled nervously and gave a weak nod. Despite being known as the most intelligent and beautiful girl in school, Elizaveta was actually quite intimidating at times. Arthur glanced around the gymnasium once, searching for a familiar face, with the knowledge that Lovino had been volunteered by his younger brother to assist with the preparations. However, the little Italian seemed to have been swallowed by the hustling and bustling of the students and staff members. Arthur sighed, dismayed, before beginning his share of the corsages.

* * *

The chairman of the school was a man with a bald head, pasty skin wrinkled with age, and dim blue eyes magnified by the heavy lenses of his glasses. He wore a beige suit that highlighted just how pale he was, making his stature appear somewhat frail, but spoke firmly in a sagely voice. He addressed the graduating students all dressed primly and properly in their uniforms with a single carnation pinned to their blazers, every single one of them matching for once in the three years they've been together, sitting in front of the dais from behind his wooden podium. Seated behind the graduating class were the second and first year students in a separate section of folding chairs while their friends and relatives sat in the bleachers behind them. So far, the principal and vice-principal of the school had spoken fondly of these students, and now the chairman boasted of how proud he was of their accomplishments and how exceptional these third years were.

It was the first time in a long time, he said with a warm, grandfatherly smile, that he had seen such a lively, energetic class. Although he was proud of them, it was somewhat heartbreaking to see them grow up and graduate from this academy. Somehow, he mused, in the blink of an eye, these rowdy students, eager to celebrate and party, became so determined to graduate and mature. They've scored the highest marks in the national exams among the other schools, participated actively in sports day, and threw the best winter festival the school has ever seen. They were and are the life of the party, of the school. Here, they've made memories and left an impressive mark on campus, and - the chairman made a point to mention - he wasn't simply referring to the graffiti reading, "We're the MOST FREAKING AWESOME Class There EVER WAS!"

"And now," the chairman stated, "a speech from the student council president, Yao Wang." He stepped aside to give Yao Wang room to speak on the podium. The Chinese boy, who had been suffering a panic attack thirty minutes before the commencement ceremony even began, was now a picture perfect image of a level-headed student.

"Ladies and gentleman," he addressed his audience, "my fellow classmates," he cracked a smile, "it seemed just yesterday that we were first year students again. All of those times of laughter, of smiles, of tears, of happiness and of frustration, all of those times are in the past from as far back as kindergarten, and as I stand here today I realize that those memories live within us.

"I remember in our first year of high school we were met with a sudden imminent threat. Someone had released a lion onto school grounds." At this, everyone laughed and made sure to glance at a blushing Arthur. "Naturally, everyone feared for their lives as, one by one, we were shown how weak we each are individually. Even the lion himself could not stand alone. Thus, we stood together through the good times and the rough times, and by our third year, the lion somehow became tamed. We find friends in those we do not expect with whom to become friends. We are all allies, comrades, friends. Although transient was our time, our memories will last forever. They will never die. Even after today, after graduation, as we step into the future, they will always remain with us. I cannot forget the faces of my friends and of my rivals, for they helped me become the person you see in front of you. Just as you leave this place, my fellow classmates - no, my friends - remember that this school is now a part of you. History cannot be erased, but the future can be forged from happened in the past. It's time we stopped looking back."

Yao Wang stepped off the dais, bowing modestly at the applause, before taking his seat at the front of the stage.

"And now, may the top ten students of World Academy rise," the chairman announced. At the front of the students, ten students stood onto their feet, backs straight, proud and tall. Their homeroom teacher climbed onto the dais and gave them all a smile that they returned. He received from the chairman their roster, aligned with their ranks, and informed his students that they may come onto the stage to receive their diploma, one by one. Inhaling deeply, he announced each name individually, his voice growing firmer and firmer each time, the wavering crack in his voice fading into pride, confidence, and esteem,

"At rank ten, Elizaveta Hedervary."

"At rank nine, Vash Zwingli."

"At rank eight, Francis Bonnefoy."

"At rank seven, Gilbert Beilschmidt."

"At rank six, Gupta Muhammad Hassan."

"At rank five, Neeraja Patel."

"At rank four, Yao Wang."

"At rank three, Heracles Karpusi."

"At rank two, Kiku Honda."

"At the top of the class, at the top of the school, at rank one, is the strongest student we have, Arthur Kirkland."

For the ten of them, the roar and cheering was deafening from their classmates, their families, and the underclassmen.

"And now, the handing of the diploma, as distributed by the chairman," the principal announced as he took his place at the podium. "May each homeroom teacher rise and come on stage to call forth his or her students through the Roman alphabetical order."

* * *

"Haven't we partied enough in the year?" Arthur inquired as he sauntered out of the gymnasium with the rest of the now graduated S-Class. They had planned to rendezvous with the others at the Bad Friends' usual tree in the courtyard. Surely enough, Antonio was already standing there with Roderich, Lili, Jia Long, Mathias, Lukas, Emil, and Vladimir.

"There is no such thing as partying _too much_, Artie!" Gilbert crowed before throwing an arm around Elizaveta and Roderich before they could escape him. Vash immediately took to his sister's side. "It'll be just a small one anyway - with just our close friends. I think, for once, it'd be better just to have one with the people we actually like."

"I think you have some sort of misunderstanding," Roderich remarked as he struggled out of Gilbert's hold. "I don't _like_ you; I _tolerate _you because you're Elizaveta's childhood friend."

"That'd be cool," Mathias agreed before poking Arthur's side with a wide grin. "Come on, _roommate_! Let's have a small gathering!"

"Roommate?" Francis repeated, amused, as he turned to face Arthur. "You didn't tell me that you're living with Mathias now, _Rosbif_."

"We're suitemates, actually. Don't get the wrong idea, Frog," Arthur returned. "We're going to be living in the dormitories, which are made of residential suites, together at St George's Conservatory. It was Mathias' idea since we're going to be the only ones from this school there."

"Actually," Roderich spoke up, "I'm attending St. George's as well."

"Whoa!" Gilbert cried. "Franny and I are attending Hetalia Polytechnic! Maybe we can drop by and party together!"

"One party at a time!" Elizaveta snapped, whacking Gilbert upside the head.

"You're just jealous because you're attending the University of Hetalia by yourself, kesesese!"

Ignoring the bickering that erupted, centered around Elizaveta and Gilbert, Francis focused his attention to his childhood friend and inquired, "So what will happen to the _appartmente_?"

"I've cancelled the lease," Arthur answered shortly. "I don't have any need for that flat any more. I'm moving whatever I'm not taking with me to college into storage over spring break. I can take my cat with me though, so I had to ask someone to take care of Winston while I'm gone. I was thinking about asking Ludwig since he's experienced, but he already has his hands full with _three_ dogs. I wouldn't want to trouble him."

"Well, you do have two weeks to figure out what to do," Francis mused.

"_Bruder_!" Gilbert turned to face Ludwig and his parents. His father was a muscular man with scars lining almost every surface of his body, but the most particular was the cut crossing his cheek. His pale blond hair was covered by a military cap, and his eyes of steel were faintly coloured violet. He wore the uniform of a commanding officer while his wife, their mother, was a tall, slim woman with short blond hair and the same blue eyes as Ludwig. She was a polite woman, somewhat shy and awkward, wearing the clothes of a policewoman. Arthur had only ever met Mr and Mrs Beilschmidt once or twice, and each time he is reminded exactly why Gilbert couldn't get away with anything under the watchful eyes of his parents even though he was a talented sneak. "Congratulations," Ludwig said awkwardly after Gilbert pulled him into a hug.

Behind the Beilschmidt family arrived the Bonnefoy family. Mr Bonnefoy was a man of trimmed blond hair and fuzzy beard while his younger wife had bright, wide eyes and curly strands of short blonde hair. Words were exchanged, and pictures were taken before each graduate left to find more friends or family. Only Arthur lingered behind, leaning against the tree, fiddling with his diploma.

"You're such a pain in the ass to find, bastard," grumbled a familiar voice from behind him. Arthur smiled as Lovino continued complaining, the words lost to deaf ears, and pulled the brunet closer to his body simply for comfort. The two of them leaned against each other. When Arthur hadn't seemed to realised that tears were dripping from the corners of his eyes, Lovino had and pulled the blond into his arms, kissing away the tears.

His family hadn't come to watch him walk, had they?

The two of them laced their fingers together and started for the front gate, deciding to leave everything alone until Gilbert informed him of the party he had casually decided on having later that day. As soon as they reached the gate, however, their path was blocked by a certain redhead with glowering green eyes. "The top of the class," he mused in the Queen's English, "and the strongest in the school, huh?" Alistair smirked. "That's a pretty big reputation, Arthur. How much stronger did ye get while ye were away, brat?" Behind him stood two other men, both still quite young. The taller one of the remaining two had unruly hair almost as fiery as Alistair's though its hue was of a deeper red, and the other had long, fluffy hair a faint shade of auburn, almost a strawberry blond. All three of them had the same green eyes as Arthur and a variant of the impressive eyebrows that probably ran through their genes. Unlike the more formal wear of the other guests, the Kirkland brothers were all wearing t-shirts, jeans, and trainers in the warm spring weather.

"Alistair, Seamus, Owain..." Arthur stared wide-eyed at his brothers. "What are you guys doing - ?"

"What? We can't see our little brother graduate?" Alistair remarked dryly. Peeking past his eldest brother's leg, a small blond haired child with eyes as blue as ocean water stared at Arthur with a childish pout on his lips. If it weren't for the eyebrows, Lovino would have never guessed that he was related to Arthur. "Someone's got something they want to say to you." With that, the redhead pushed Peter forward, and the child nearly tripped over his own feet before catching himself. His cheeks flushed red with embarrassment rather than anger as he stared up at Arthur.

Lovino wasn't sure what he was expecting, but he wasn't expecting the boy to tackle Arthur in a hug, crying, "Arthur, you jerk! Jerk Arthur! How come you never came back home?! You gave me a Christmas present with a platypus and a card saying that you would, but you never did, you big jerk! Meanie!"

Arthur embraced him awkwardly, one hand still attached to Lovino's though he was oblivious to such a fact. "Sorry, Peter," he responded, his words plain and bland. He had no excuse to give to the youngest Kirkland.

"Hey, Arthur, who's this?" Seamus inquired mischievously, looking Lovino up and down. That was when the two of them realized that, yes, their hands were still laced together. Immediately, Arthur dropped his lover's hand like a hot rock, and Lovino recoiled from Arthur's touch as though he had just touched an ice pillar with his bare hand. Seamus guffawed, holding his stomach, before wiping at his eyes in amusement. Owain simply glanced at the younger redhead, rolling his eyes, before glimpsing at both Arthur and Lovino. He said nothing.

"This is Lovino Vargas," Arthur responded calmly, "my boyfriend."

His brothers exchanged a mirthful glance before wrapping their arms around Lovino and pulling him along. "You want to hear a story about Arthur when he was seven, kid?" Alistair inquired as he led them to the Kirkland family car.

"Oi!" Arthur snapped indignantly.

"What? The more help ye get to move your shite from that damned flat, the faster ye can settle back into our home," Alistair explained with a grin. "Or did ye forget your promise already? After graduation, ye would move back, remember?"

"Right," the blond acquiesced.

"Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, when he was seven, he had this pet rabbit that _always _followed him around - !"

"Shut it, Alistair!"

"Don't tell me to shut it, ye little brat!"

"Oh, right! I remember that rabbit! It was black and white, right, Al?"

"Sod off, Seamus!"

"Aye, and he called it 'Mint' if I remember correctly!"

"Wankers, all ov yew! Yew bloody lot're bleedin' wankers!"

* * *

"Remember ter feed 'im three times a day, all right, Peter?" Arthur reminded as he dragged a trolley case across the living room with a sports bag slung over his shoulder. He carried Elizabeth's carrier carefully, not wanting the Scottish Fold to complain so much since it was already a struggle to get her inside the carrier.

"Okay, you jerk!"

"Brat."

The two of them exchanged a smile before Peter ran up to Arthur and hugged his waist with Winston following shortly behind him. "Do you have to go, jerk Arthur?" the boy mumbled. "You've only been back for a few days!"

"I know, Peter, an' I'm sorry 'bout that," Arthur mused. He knew that two weeks wasn't enough time to make up for the months and years he was away. Still, when Peter didn't stop pouting, he added, "Me tuition's already been paid fer, so I 'ave ter go, OK?" He patted his head. "I'll come back ter visit, promise." He managed to pry Peter's arms from around his waist and bellowed into the house, "I'm leavin', yew bloody gits! See yew fer Christmas, Al, Seamus, Owain!"

"Yeah, yeah! Git lost, yer shithead!" was Seamus' reply. "Brin' back some av your damn truffles for Christmas!"

"Bugger off, eejit!"

"Shut it, ye barmpots! Aam tryin' tae deposit some damn money haur, an' yer makin' me botch up!" Alistair snapped from the kitchen.

"Then, fer da bloomin' love ov God, try 'arder!"

His anger soon subsided, and so Arthur pressed a kiss to Peter's head, ruffling the blond hair, before bidding his younger brother goodbye and patting the whining Winston. He closed the front door behind him, locking it tight with his old key.

Yes, his family was a little strange, but at least everything was back to normal.

Mathias pulled into the driveway in a badly beaten red pick-up in need of a paint job. After parking his pick-up, Mathias stepped out of his vehicle as though it was your typical passenger car and greeted Arthur with a brief, one-armed hug, clasping his shoulder with the other hand. "You ready?" Mathias inquired as he hauled Arthur's trolley case and sports bag into the open bed.

"That's one hell ov a banger you got there, Mathias," Arthur commented, nodding slightly in the direction of the pick-up.

Copying the smaller blond's actions, Mathias jerked his head towards Arthur's motorcycle and asked in a joking manner, "We going to put that in the back, too? I have enough room for your bicycle, too." Arthur peered into the bed of the truck and caught sight of a bicycle with peeling red paint.

"Are you mad?" Arthur retorted, rolling his eyes. "I'll follow you and meet you on campus, all right? Just take good care of Elizabeth." With that, the Briton pulled open the passenger door and strapped Elizabeth's carrier into the seat. "I'll see you later then."

Mathias laughed. "Don't be so cold, Arthur! Still, this is all pretty exciting, isn't it? I can't believe I actually got accepted into their dance college!" the Dane beamed before stepping back into his pick-up.

"You did just fine; I'm the one more surprised with my acceptance!"

"Eh, guess we shouldn't doubt ourselves! Anyway, see you there!"

As agreed, Arthur started the engine to his motorcycle after securing his helmet and followed after Mathias, navigating away from idiotic drivers and manoeuvring his machine expertly. They made it to campus and displayed their parking passes to the orientation volunteers before they were allowed onto the dormitories. Arthur pulled into the car park and cut off his engine, pulling off his helmet, as he waited for Mathias to park beside him. The Dane had some minor difficulties with people getting in his way, which made Arthur snort with amusement, but he managed to park perfectly.

Arthur heaved his luggage out of the back of the pick-up and carried Elizabeth carefully as he and his friend walked side by side, admiring the campus village. Cosy cafés, moderately sized bookshops, fresh markets, simple restaurants, and small pubs and parlours lined the pavement, each with their own individual style with the occasional on-campus flats. Making their way into a dormitory marked "Elizabethan Tower," which earned Elizabeth one of Mathias' teasing jokes even though the cat didn't so much respond, they waited in a line made of nearly five hundred people in order to receive the keys to their suite.

In the meanwhile, Arthur scrolled through his messages and pulled up a conversation with Gilbert, who had sent him a picture of his dorm, cluttered with plush toys of giant pandas and little yellow birds, with a text reading, "Jealous of my awesome dorm, git?" Arthur snorted and showed Mathias, who burst out laughing, consequently startling a few other students, at his friend's antics. The Dane pointed out a shamefaced Francis sitting on the other bed in the corner of the picture, which made Arthur laugh as well. It looked like the prospective engineer and architect ended up as roommates, and from the looks of it, if Gilbert didn't calm down from finally being freed from the watchful eyes of his parents, Francis was going to blow. Exiting the conversation screen, Arthur went through his other newly received messages.

There was one from Victoria and another from Lisa, both telling him to meet them at Cameron's pub later to celebrate, and there was another from Marianne, who wished him well on his studies. There was even a message from Francis, who expressed his disdain for Arthur pursuing a course in music ("What the hell can you do with a degree in music, _Rosbif_?") but did not wish him ill will. To everyone who sent him a message, he replied just as amiably (or not as amiably, in Francis' case) and apologised for not having responded earlier since he was riding. However, what really made him smile was the message from Lovino. The brunet had taken a picture of the class arrangements for the third year students; more specifically, he had taken a picture of the current S-Class.

At the number ten slot was printed the name "Lovino Vargas."

"Hey, Arthur, it's our turn!" Mathias cheered as he pulled the Briton along.

The blond nearly bumped into a small girl with beautiful brown curls and tanned skin. She was of a lithe, athletic frame and was slender but curved in all the right places, rather on the skinny side of the spectrum, with deep amber eyes. Her clothing was fashionable and rather sophisticated, the colours complementary and the style chic. "Sorry about that, Miss," he apologised courteously with a gentlemanly smile on his lips.

Her cheeks flushed pink, and she stammered, "W-Whatever, _stronzo, _it's fine..."

"Chiara!" someone cried out. The girl immediately whirled around, muttering a quiet "_Ciao_," and stomped to the source of the calling in her stiletto heels.

"Damn, she was hot," Mathias commented, "but a little grumpy. Reminds me of Lovino. But a girl. I wonder if there's like a whole species or race of Lovino's somewhere in the world."

Arthur laughed at that. "I don't think he'd appreciate that, git, but... She does have the same fashion sense and a similar attitude as him. Don't tell him I said that, all right, mate?"

"Ha! If I tell him, he'd murder me, too! _Everyone_ kills the messenger!" Mathias reminded. "Let's keep this to ourselves, agreed?"

"Agreed," Arthur nodded his head before giving his name to the girl at the desk. He helped her search for his name and placed his finger onto the paper once he spotted it. Thanking her politely for helping him and his friend, the two of them made their way to the lift.

"You think she's staying in this dorm?"

"It _is _coed, and she _was _in the lobby. What do you think?"

"Don't be so nasty, Arthur! I was just asking!" Mathias responded light-heartedly. The two of them exited on the fourth floor, marching to room 407, and entered the suite. Upon seeing the two bedroom doors just beyond the living area, they flipped a coin to see who got which room. In the end, Arthur ended up on the left and Mathias on the right. The blond immediately released Elizabeth in his bedroom, where there was only a twin sized bed and a computer desk aside from the moderately sized closet, allowing her to explore her new surroundings. He collapsed onto the undressed bed and scrolled for Lovino's number.

"_Sì, chi parla?_"

"And who said that they couldn't get into the S-Class again, wanker?"

"_Stai zitto, stronzo!_" Lovino snapped on the other end, face flushed with embarrassment. "_Anyway, what are you doing?_"

"Talking to you, git."

"_Sarcastic bastard._"

"I love you, too, my little ankle-biter."

"_...shut up._"

"You're blushing."

"_Shut up_!"

"Aren't you supposed to be in class?"

"_Well, what am I supposed to do?! You called me, bastard!_"

And he cared enough to answer.

"Lovino, do you know what you're going to do in the future?" Arthur inquired absent-mindedly. "I want to marry you, and I want to raise a family. Maybe adopt children from somewhere; I want a little baby girl from China. We can have a vegetable garden with all of the greens and tomatoes you want! ...but I _do_ want to plant a few rose bushes here and there, maybe in the front yard. Our dining room would have a vase filled with lilies and daisies, and everyone would sit down together for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You would have to cook all three meals, of course, since I refuse to eat anything that you didn't make, and I'd provide for you... I don't know how I'd do that by taking a course in music, but I'll figure something out. Maybe I'll write film scores or be a record producer or a sound engineer. There's so many possibilities that I want to try!"

His words were met with silence. "_Y-You're an idiot... But that does sound nice. I... I want to cook for you, too. Don't eat a lot of fast food shit while you're at college, capito?_"

Arthur smiled. "Understood," he replied.

"_Hey, I have to get back to class now, but, err... Ti amo, Arthur. Ciao!_"

Well, it was time to walk around campus now, was it? He had to stay here four years, after all, so he might as well start now. Besides, if he knew all of the short-cuts, it would be easier to sneak Lovino into his room.

* * *

**A/N:** Happy ending?

Just a few allusions and such:

Originally, I wasn't sure if I should have mentioned any parents at all in this chapter, but based on experiences, family always manages to find you somewhere in the crowd after the graduation ceremony and takes lots and lots and _lots _of pictures. (Well, my family anyway.) I've modelled Francis' and Gilbert's fathers after the 2p!Hetalia characters of France and Germany, and Mrs Beilschmidt is modelled after nyo!Germany while Mrs Bonnefoy is modelled after Jean d'Arc. (I found her relation with France in canonverse quite adorable! ...but at the same time I don't quite ship it, ha.)

Also, before I've edited this, you weren't supposed to know what Peter's Christmas present from chapter 30 was. I thought it would be mysterious, and then I decided it might have been better to tie up loose ends. Now that you know what it is, could you guess what show Peter's been watching? I've read somewhere that he was quite interested in Spongebob, but it didn't really fit with what I had in mind for his relationship with Arthur.

The Elizabethan Tower on-campus has its name derived from the Elizabeth Tower (as of 2012 from simply "Clock Tower") in London - you know, the one that houses Big Ben. I just couldn't get that name out of my head. St George's Conservatory is also named after Saint George.

And, hmmm, who did Arthur bump into when he was getting his keys?

There's only one more update! Stay tuned for the epilogue!


	34. Epilogue

**_WARNING_:** This chapter is a bit (that might be an understatement) smutty at the end.

**Four Seasons and a Year: Epilogue**

"You're late, bastard!" Lovino snapped impatiently in front of the wishing fountain located in the centre of the shopping strip. The Italian was noticeably dressed in his very best attire, a casual grey waistcoat with a white button shirt and a dark silk tie, a pair of trousers the colour of traditional red wine, a sort of burgundy shade, and a brand new pair of boots. Much to Arthur's surprise, it was a pair of Doc Martens with a white body and black laces matching the cherry red pair that the Briton was currently wearing with his loose, white Led Zeppelin t-shirt underneath an unbuttoned maroon cardigan pierced with silver pyramid studs and conical spikes at the shoulders and a pair of black jeans. The chains hanging off his leather belt clinked and jingled as the blond jogged to catch up with his lover.

"Only by ten minutes! That's still perfectly acceptable!" Arthur protested before giving the younger boy an apologetic smile. "Were you waiting long?"

"Yes, I was, you fucking bastard!" Lovino barked. "What the hell took you so long?"

"The bus was stuck in traffic," the Briton explained sheepishly.

"Why didn't you just take your damn motorcycle?"

"Because we wouldn't be able to talk properly over the sound of the engine and through the helmet," was Arthur's blatant reply. Lovino flushed at his lover's frank honesty but said nothing in response. He kept his eyes trained on the pavement, hoping that the Briton wouldn't notice his red cheeks. "I wanted to walk with you and talk with you. We haven't done so in a long time." As soon as those tender, gentle words slipped past Arthur's lips naturally and suavely, the back of their hands brushed against each other as they began strolling down the pavement. Arthur smiled wistfully at the brief contact. It's been nearly a month since the two of them had last seen each other, and Arthur yearned for nothing more than simply holding his little Italian spitfire close, burying himself in that earthen warmth. Since they both attended different schools and lived on different sides of town, it was difficult to adjust their schedules - Arthur especially. The Briton always had some kind of assignment or project for college aside from his job at Cameron's pub, open mic promises and legitimately paid gigs and recording sessions with Victoria and Lisa, studying for surprise quizzes and examinations from his professors after information leaked about the classrooms and lecture halls, and mandatory performances and recitals as an accompanist and orchestral member. Throw in a couple of all-nighters and study-groups-turned-drinking-sessions (especially with Mathias and Gilbert), then you have Arthur Kirkland's life as a college student.

Breaking his lover away from his thoughts, Lovino asked of the blond strolling beside him, "Anyway, do you want to grab a bite to eat?"

"Are you cooking?" Arthur returned with a sort of dismal hope. They were quite a ways from both the Vargas household and the Elizabethan Tower. Although Lovino's home was so much closer, the Englishman knew that his lover wouldn't want to return home so quickly just to feed him. His grandfather and brother are at home, Lovino would reason. Still, Arthur wished and yearned for it. He hadn't had one of Lovino's meals in such a long time that he was almost dying with hunger. Fish and chips, curry, and meat pies did little to appease to him now that he realised how much of Lovino's cooking he had taken for granted. "I bloody miss your cooking."

"Thanks, bastard. Is that the only reason why you're with me?" Lovino retorted dryly.

"Of course not," Arthur answered blatantly with a cheeky smile, "it simply happens to be the most wonderful surprise after becoming acquainted with you and an especially phenomenal bonus when we started dating. I can only imagine what domestic life would be like next!"

"Chigi!" Lovino shoved Arthur aside lightly, increasing their distance by nearly an entire foot.

"I miss your shirty little attitude as well, my lovely little ankle-biter," Arthur teased, masking the subtle pain he felt at Lovino's makeshift gap. It prodded his heart momentarily, twisting and turning, causing a vertigo spell of uncertainty and discomfort. As though sensing Arthur's hurt or perhaps feeling a similar (the Briton really didn't know), the Italian gradually closed the space between them once again, and Arthur relished his body heat, restraining himself from wrapping an arm around Lovino's waist and pulling him closer.

"How's college?" Lovino inquired in an attempt as reconciliation.

"It's fine so far. Piano lessons are coming along well," Arthur mused, accepting his lover's attempt wholeheartedly. "Plus, Mathias is a fun git to have around as a suitemate, and I've been making new friends. There's even this ballerina, Anya Braginskaya from Moscow, who wants me to play the accompaniment for her recital, which I think might help me gain experience - broaden my horizons some. I'm not that familiar with Tchaikovsky."

"What the fuck is Tch-Tch - whatever," Lovino grunted, stumbling over the foreign name. He ignored that faint tinge of jealousy at the mention of some Russian ballerina. Ballerinas were notably beautiful, and this one was Russian. She must have some kind of grace Lovino obviously didn't have, clumsy as he was... and some balls if she was going after Arthur, dammit. He's also heard from Ludwig who heard from Gilbert who heard from Mathias who heard about Arthur who keeps bumping into some Italian fashion model who might have an interest in his boyfriend.

Ha, he'd be the only Italian lover in Arthur's life, Lovino thought smugly as he rubbed the platinum band around his ring finger. One day, he reminded himself, one day, they'll get married and eat the same meals at the same table cooked with vegetables from their garden with maybe one or two little mouths to feed. Maybe.

"He's a Russian composer," Arthur informed, breaking the younger boy out of his reverie. "You know of 'Snow Lake,' right? That was his composition, probably his most famous one aside from the 'Nutcracker Suite.'"

The blond then grasped onto Lovino's hand and smoothly guided his lover into a coffee shop. The Italian obliged - though his cheeks were a flaming scarlet - and waited patiently as the Briton ordered two cups of espresso. Just when Lovino was going to pay, Arthur had already completed the transaction and was about to hand over Lovino's cup.

"Hey, bastard! I was going to pay - "

Arthur patted Lovino's hand and marched right past him, leaving the Italian to follow after the blond. "Maybe," the Briton remarked, "I wanted to pay for the both of us. You told me that I have to be able to keep up with your expensive lifestyle, didn't you? I'm just doing my job as your beloved husband to-be!"

"But it's your _birthday_!" Lovino protested, cheeks glowing red. "You shouldn't have to pay for your own coffee on your birthday!"

"It's my birthday?" Arthur pulled out his phone to check the date. He blinked a few times the moment he realised that it truly was the twenty-third of April. "So it is..."

"You bastard..." Lovino growled. "Are you _fucking kidding me_?! How can you not know that it's your birthday?!" His words became slurred together, soon a mixture of Italian and English before fading entirely into Italian. Arthur glanced at the curious stares before snapping his fingers in front of Lovino's flashing hazel eyes. "What?!" he seethed.

"You're causing a bit of a scene, little ankle-biter," Arthur mused as he gestured to the on-lookers. "Let's talk somewhere else." The Briton avoided having to say any more by taking a sip of his warm espresso. Over the last month, he had developed a growing fixation with the bitter coffee since it reminded him of Lovino. Of course, he only ever drank espresso whenever he was pulling an all-nighter, and the amount of caffeine in tea wouldn't see him through the night. Naturally, he still enjoyed his Earl Grey, and the blond doubted that anything would ever change that just as he doubted that anyone would ever sway him away from Lovino. When he noticed that the Italian boy had remained silent, Arthur inquired of him with genuine concern, "What's gotten you so worked up, Lovino?"

"I never know what to do for you," Lovino muttered. His cheeks were still flushed red. "You're always... so far ahead."

"I'm right here in front of you, Lovino," Arthur mused, taking Lovino's free hand in his own. He hid their entwined hands away from public view, keeping away from people. "If you tell me to stop, I'll stop. if you tell me to wait, I'll wait. If you tell me to jump or speak or laugh or cry, I'll do whatever you want. I'm all yours." The blond took another bitter sip of his espresso. "I'd die for you."

"Bastard!" Lovino hissed, ramming his shoulder into Arthur's side and thereby making the latter stumble. "Don't fucking say that!" Lovino ran a hand through his hair, obviously distressed with Arthur's words. How many times had Arthur thrown himself into danger in the past year? He had drowned in October, he had exhausted himself fighting delinquents over November, he had wandered the streets in December, and he had nearly gotten crashed by a car that same month. Arthur being the slightest bit hurt or injured was the last thing Lovino wanted - even if it was for his own sake.

"Whatever makes you happy," Arthur chirped, tightening his hold on Lovino's hand, "I'll do it. The only thing I won't promise you is that I'll leave if you ever tell me to do so; I won't ever leave you alone."

Lovino blushed. "I don't only want to be on the receiving end in this relationship, bastard," he remarked coarsely. "Do you think I'm some fucking damsel in distress? Hell no! I'm not playing that part!"

"'And in the end,'" Arthur recited perfectly from memory, "'the love you take is equal to the love you make.'" The blond smiled. "I assure you, Lovino, that you aren't being spoiled senselessly, you conceited git."

"Oh yeah? Name once!"

"The days you came to visit me on the rooftop," Arthur began, "and the times you've brought me lunch. Another time when you chased after me even though I resolved to leave you alone and when you decided to fight me even though you have no fighting experience, when you stood up for me against even your family and when you stood by my side while I was bloody unconscious from the drowning incident, when you helped me practice for my interview and when you actually dared to chase after me _at the airport _in the middle of a traffic jam_,_ when you invited me to eat dinner with your family and when you looked for me when I disappeared, when you took care of me after the crash and when you visited _my family _with me, and when you accepted my proposal... Need I say more?" He gave Lovino a sheepish smile. "You've already done so much, Lovino. You don't need to degrade yourself like that. I'm just happy that you still want to be with someone like me."

"Dammit," Lovino whimpered, voice cracking with tears. His hazel eyes were glossing over with tears. "You're so fucking embarrassing, bastard!" He blinked back the solution daring to drip from his eyes. "Don't you ever leave me, okay? I won't forgive you if you do!"

"I wouldn't dream of it," Arthur promised, finishing the rest of his espresso before tossing it into a nearby trash can. The two of them strolled leisurely downtown, occasionally peering beyond the glass windows of various boutiques. They dropped by a bookshop, where Arthur took great pleasure in reciting Shakespearean sonnets to Lovino, who was only trying to finish his espresso without choking in embarrassment at the sheer cheesiness of it all. They didn't leave without Arthur buying a copy of _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland _and a few of Shakespeare's plays that took place in Italy, which Lovino paid for at the last second much to Arthur's amusement.

"You've already bought me a diamond ring," Lovino grumbled, "and I don't expect to be able to pay it off this easily. Prepare yourself, bastard!"

Arthur laughed. "I just want another Lovino-cooked meal, really!" he assured, the paper bag from the bookshop hanging from his arm.

"Arthur, over here," Lovino declared firmly as he began to drag the taller blond down the pavement. The Briton noticed his workplace just a few paces away and wondered momentarily what Lovino was planning by taking him to the pub where he worked. (Ultimately, if he bought a drink, it meant that he would be returning the money he earned from his employer back to his employer, wouldn't it? Cameron would gladly accept the returned money, of course.) Still, he was silent as Lovino pushed open the door, where he was greeted with a tremendous, "Happy birthday!" each uttered in a distinctive language.

"W-What's all of this?" Arthur stammered. He could make out the faces in the crowd - Gilbert, Francis, Carriedo, Mathias, Jia Long and Emil, Lisa and Victoria, Kiku, Feliciano, Ludwig, Wang, Elizaveta, Roderich, Lukas, Vladimir, Lars, even Braginski and Alfred and Matthew and so many more! - gathered in the pub. There were no other clients except for the ones who shouted "Happy birthday!" The Briton flushed a deep red, grumbling, "You know I don't fancy surprise parties, but... Thanks."

Gilbert cackled, throwing an arm around his friend's shoulders, and crowed, "You only don't like them because you never remember that it's your birthday, Artie, so you're always thrown off-kilter!" Well, that's because they always make me feel like some bloody arsehole, Arthur thought bitterly, giving his friend a wry smile as the albino continued rambling on and on, crowing, "Surprise parties are awesome though, aren't they? That's because I planned it all!"

"_Excuse-moi_?" Francis snapped, marching up to Gilbert. "Are you taking all of the credit? I am the one who brought up the suggestion! I even made sure that Lovi cooked all of the food!"

"_Amigos, amigos_!" Carriedo exclaimed, throwing his arms around his two friends with a smile much too bright for Arthur to bear. "Calm down! Let's have something to drink! Like sangria!"

"Sangria?!" Gilbert recoiled with disgust. "Get me a beer! _Bier_!"

Before he left, however, Francis insisted adamantly on having the last word and crawled out of Antonio's grasp, letting his two friends leave first. He shoved a small paper bag into Arthur's hands, not having bothered to wrap the gift, and winked lewdly and shrewdly. "You can take a peek at your present, but it's better if you don't let anyone so much take a glance of it!" With a highly obnoxious laugh, Francis followed after his friends to the bar. Curiosity overwhelming his better judgement, Arthur peered into the bag cautiously before shrieking out Francis' name and causing a tremor to rumble throughout the pub. The Frenchman laughed louder than ever before. Naturally, Lovino asked him what was wrong, but the Briton placed a hand over his face to cover his reddened cheeks.

"Nothing. The frog is just a bloody perverted wanker," he grumbled before shoving the paper bag into the bag hanging from his arm, nestling it against his collection of books. Lovino gave his lover a skeptic glance but made no further comment.

"So this is what a bar looks like on the inside!" Alfred mused before he pulled Matthew to the billiards table. "Let's play a game, Mattie! Leon and Emil, too!" The four minors each greeted Arthur as they crossed the pub to indulge in a game of billiards, closely monitored by Berwald to prevent any illicit gambling or something of the sort.

"Leon?" Lovino repeated with utter bewilderment. "I thought everyone knew his real name is Jia Long by now?"

"Wanker probably thought 'Jia Long' was too hard to say," Arthur replied shortly. "Bloody Americans." He smirked. "You cooked _all _of the food here tonight?"

Lovino flushed with embarrassment. "Shut up, bastard," he grunted. "I cooked everything I knew you like - appetizers, entrées, _and_ desserts. I knew that you wouldn't get all of your meals at fucking college."

"Hey, Arthur!" Vladimir bounced forward, Lukas in tow, to greet him. "Long time, no see! How's college life treating you? Meet any pretty girls?" Vladimir waggled his eyebrows. He either did not hear Lovino's snarl or chose to ignore it, which was rather smart on the Romanian's part. "They must love your accent!"

"He's got two girls chasing after him now _for sure_!" Mathias boasted as he approached the party. "A Russian ballerina and an Italian model! There's also a female photographer from Spain who might have eyed him a few times! Plus, he's in a band with those two British chicks over there having a drink!" Sure enough, Lisa and Victoria were both drinking rum and cokes. They gave Arthur a little wave, and Lovino could feel his eyebrow twitch ever so slightly. He still wasn't on the greatest terms with the British brunette. "Arthur is just surrounded by girls!" Mathias sighed wistfully.

Vladimir whistled. "You're living the good life, aren't you?"

"Shut it, you gits."

"Stop being such a dog, Vladimir," Elizaveta sneered as Roderich escorted her to the bar. The latter took a risk for his girlfriend and seated himself between her and Gilbert. Vladimir joined them solely to banter with the Hungarian girl. Lukas and Mathias then parted to grab a drink, much to the former's discontent.

Both Braginski and Wang gave polite greetings to the birthday boy. Wang reported that he was currently studying in a bioengineering programme, focused more on being a researcher and scientist than a doctor, while Braginski admitted to studying at a local college to become a registered nurse. Arthur was glad to see the two of them doing well, and he was especially glad to hear that Wang wasn't having any more trouble from Jia Long ever since graduation.

"Good afternoon, Arthur-san," Kiku greeted with a polite smile as he approached his old friend. He ordered the Briton a pint and wished him a happy birthday.

"I thought you were studying in America," Arthur mused.

Kiku hummed in acknowledgement and responded, "Massachusetts has a three-day holiday in April called Patriots' Day. I ended up taking the week off to visit my friends and family." He smiled softly. "It _is_ your birthday, after all. Congratulations on turning eighteen."

"Ta, mate," Arthur replied as he lifted the pint Kiku had ordered for him. Just as soon as he was about to commence a conversation with his old friend, something tackled him from behind, causing him to cry out in surprise, "Bloody hell!" He craned his neck and found himself subject to a rough pink tongue. "Winston! Down I say!" Despite the warning, Arthur was laughing merrily, patting his bulldog affectionately. "I missed you as well, old boy!" the Briton mused as he sat upright, allowing Winston to nestle on his lap like old times. He smiled at his family and remarked, "What are you arseholes doing here?"

"Peter wanted tae see ye," Alistair retorted just as smoothly, revealing the cowering child behind his legs, "and you've got a delivery."

Owain presented him with a bouquet of forget-me-nots, coloured with pastel hues, and handed him a card. The Welsh Kirkland whispered into Arthur's ear, "It's from your father, apparently."

Arthur's eyes widened as he flipped open the card, eyes skimming the content with pure and utter curiosity. Lovino leaned over his shoulder, and Arthur didn't bother hiding him the content. The Italian would have found out eventually anyway.

In perfectly fluid longhand, his father had written,

_Happy eighteenth birthday, Arthur!_

_You look just like your mother._

_I apologise for not having ever been around in your life, but, to be fair, I did not even know of your existence until I saw you for myself. I know that it is probably just an excuse, however, on my part, and that it truly does not justify what you had or have undergone. It took a bit of prying to discover the address of the Kirkland estate, but even if this gift does not reach you, I had to try. Maybe one day, if you're not angry with me, we could meet again - officially, that is. We have already met once on Valentine's Day, and I hope that you could give me a chance to be your father. You probably resent me; still, I understand if you do. I had to try though; eighteen years have passed already. I could not let more time pass by or between us._

_Sincerely,  
Oliver Rowland_

The card trembled in Arthur's hand, and he wasn't sure what to feel. Excitement? Enraged? Bloody hell, he didn't know, and he was already a mess. Still, he smiled as Lovino took his hand and held it firmly. Alistair then propped Peter onto his shoulders and announced that they would have to leave. This place wasn't proper for an eight year old child, he reasoned, and Arthur agreed with him. Besides, there was nothing for a kid to do in a place with only booze, pool, darts, and a few retro game machines. Arthur waved goodbye as Alistair turned around and as Seamus took reign of Winston's lead.

Later that evening, Lovino insisted on seeing Arthur's suite, and the Briton had no reason to decline. Instead, the blond made sure Lovino notified Mr Vargas before they boarded a bus back to St George's. The Italian took in all of the night scenery with a soft smile on his lips, admiring the sites, as Arthur held onto his hand. Even on the way to the Elizabethan Tower, neither of them uttered a single word, preserving the moment into their memories, as they swung their hands back and forth idly and leisurely, hidden away from any peering eyes. Sneaking Lovino into the dormitory, Arthur brought him to his and Mathias' suite, the latter assuring Arthur that he wouldn't be back tonight because he would be staying with Lukas, Emil, and Berwald and Tino. It was, after all, their first reunion since graduation.

Opening the door, Elizabeth was quick to greet and welcome Lovino in place of Arthur, who laughed at the sight, commenting, "She really missed you."

"I can see that, bastard," Lovino remarked dryly before picking up the cat and rubbing his nose against hers. He smiled as she meowed delicately. He then set her on the floor and mentioned, "Which one is your room?"

"On the left," Arthur replied shortly. "Why?"

"Come on, bastard," Lovino demanded impatiently, crossing across the living space to the bedroom on the left. He tried opening the door but was surprised to find it locked. Arthur chuckled and explained that the security mechanism in the tower worked accordingly: each suite had an automatic main lock, but each individual bedroom had a lock as well to preserve privacy for each and every student. Lovino rolled his eyes and waited for Arthur to unlock the door.

The Briton pulled the door open like a perfect gentleman and bowed gracefully, or dramatically, chiming, "After you, little ankle-biter!" Lovino snorted and shuffled inside of the bedroom, and Arthur closed the door behind him. He was surprised to find Lovino shutting off the lights the moment he tried turning them on. The Italian was already stripping off Arthur's cardigan and unbuckling his belt. Taken back, the blond stammered, temporarily reverting back to his natural dialect in his moment of apprehension and panic, "W-Wot're yew doin', L-Lovino?"

"Shut up, bastard," Lovino hissed, fumbling nervously with the button of his lover's jeans. Arthur grabbed his wrists and wasn't all that surprised to find that Lovino was shaking, but at the spark of determination flashing in the smaller's eyes, Arthur slackened his hold and guided the younger to the bed, kicking off his boots and peeling off Lovino's Doc Martins as well.

Taking charge, the blond pulled off Lovino's waistcoat and flung the black tie aside, unbuttoning Lovino's shirt and kissing every bit of tanned skin that was slowly and gradually unveiled. Lovino shuddered under his touch and pulled his lover closer, wrapping his arms around Arthur's neck. He bit his lip as he felt a sharp pain pierce through his flesh before a soothing, moist warmth washed over the laceration, sucking stubbornly and persistently, marking the olive skin possessively. The Briton left one love bite on his collarbone, another on his chest, one on his abdomen, another on his shoulder, one on the back of his neck, and another and another. Arthur pulled away momentarily, stripping himself of his shirt, before he closed the distance between them, relishing in Lovino's warm body against his own, the skin to skin contact arousing his senses. His breath hitched as he felt Lovino trace the patterns of ink imprinted in his skin, appraising the masterful artwork, before pressing a shy kiss to the Tudor rose. Arthur's heart swelled with a surge of emotions roaring through his veins, overflowing his body with a foreign passion, nearly destroying himself inside and obliterating his patience and tolerance.

When Arthur made a move to strip Lovino of his trousers, the Italian noticeably stiffened, frozen to solid ice with utter trepidation. Retracting his hand, Arthur instead opted to pull Lovino into a tight embrace. Oh, he understood perfectly now. "You don't have to do this," Arthur whispered into Lovino's ear, stroking his silky locks of hair. "I told you that I'd wait for you. There's no rush, my darling little ankle-biter."

Lovino felt tears prick at his eyes as he buried his face into the nape of Arthur's neck. "Fuck," he cursed, "but you've already done so much... I feel like a kid compared to you."

Arthur smiled bitterly. "We've had this conversation before, I'm sure," the blond mused, "but I'm not willing to take you if you're this frightened. You still have doubts about it, don't you? About sex? Probably even more doubts than you usually would since it's with a man?" He pressed a kiss to the top of Lovino's head before nuzzling his face into the silky tresses. "I'll take care of you whenever you want to... you know. I promise you that. I don't want just bloody sex, anyway. Now might not be the right time, but... I appreciate that you wanted to make this day special for me, Lovino. This day has been special enough though. I mean, I got to see you again, and I got to hold hands with you again. I got to laugh and smile with you again, and I got to see that delicious blush again. Now I get to hold you in my arms. I love you so much, Lovino, and this is enough for me."

Lovino buried his face into Arthur's chest, mumbling, "I love you, too, Arthur, but I'm sure. I'm _positive_."

"About what, luv?"

"I want you. Badly. Right now." Lovino pulled closer to Arthur, swallowing the Briton's lips in a long, loving kiss thrown into the spiraling, never-ending depths of passion. He whispered, "I might be scared, but erase my fears for me, bastard. It's your job as my husband to-be, isn't it?" Warmth pooled in their stomachs, flooding through their bodies, welling in their chests, as they pulled closer and closer, burning one another with their touches fervently and feverishly.

And Arthur obliged, willingly, delightedly, to pleasing his lover. The English pressed Lovino back against the mattress, pinning the smaller boy beneath his body, and devoured his plush, plump lips with kiss after kiss after kiss innumerable times, comforting his lover chastely and gently, before slipping in his tongue and deepening their touches. The Italian snaked his arms once more about Arthur's neck, adamant on decimating the distance between them, and followed suite, sneaking his tongue into Arthur's wet cavern, prodding curiously at the metal pearl piercing his lover's warm tongue. He yelped in surprise as he felt a cool, slick finger prod at his entrance.

"Sorry," Arthur apologised breathlessly, giving Lovino a brief sheepish smile though his emeralds were sparkling with lust, desire, and utter adoration. Lovino shuddered at the sensation though he was not sure if it was from the sight of those deep green eyes or from Arthur's ministrations. "I kind ov have to do this." A second finger entered Lovino, and he squirmed uncomfortably. It felt like something didn't belong there; it felt unnatural. Doubt began to cloud Lovino's mind as the blond stretched him; what if he didn't want this after all? What if this wasn't right? What if Arthur wasn't - ?

"_Oh!_"

A devilish smirk crept onto Arthur's lips.

"There we go."

A finger brushed over that one spot yet again, experimentally, and a white flame flickered within Lovino. Unable to suppress his emotions any longer, a wanton moan crawled past his throat, dragging itself beyond his lips, and lingering in the heavy atmosphere. He froze in a mixture of apprehension and anticipation when he felt Arthur's aching member brush against his entrance. The Briton pulled Lovino into his arms, burying his face into the Italian's neck, and whispered, "Just relax. I'm ready when you are."

The younger boy gave a brief nod, his chocolate locks brushing against Arthur's pale, bare skin, and a breath hitched in his throat as he felt Arthur press into him slowly and carefully, filling him entirely. "_Dio mio_," he whispered as warm tears pricked at his eyes. It hurt, unbearably so, but as Arthur buried his face into the crook of Lovino's neck further, the Italian tightened his hold on his lover. It was okay. He smiled, his lips brushing against Arthur's skin. It's okay. No, it was more than okay.

Arthur started shifting, rolling his hips, and thrusting into his lover. Lovino's fingers threaded through golden locks as he occasionally whispered sweet Italian endearments into the Briton's ears even though he knew that Arthur didn't understand them. Perhaps that was for the best because he just knew he couldn't live with himself if Arthur understood them word for word, literal and figurative, verbatim. It was too embarrassing.

Their momentum built up and lead them to the edge of their spiraling passion that ultimately unbounded. The white flame burning within the depths of Lovino's being burst with a sensual, erotic cry of his lover's name, and even though Arthur was forced to pull away, his seed filled the small Italian. He bent to his spitfire and pressed a chaste kiss behind his ear, his lips dancing closer and closer to his lips, tracing a pattern onto his cheeks and down his jaw. After a moment, Arthur laughed suddenly - a brief, low chortle - and muttered something under his breath among the lines of, "That frog was actually kind of insightful." Before his lover could ask him anything, pecking Lovino's swollen lips, Arthur asked lovingly, adoring, and lasciviously, "Round two?"

"Bastard, do you have to ask?"

It was more than okay, Lovino thought to himself with a tender smile as warmth filled his body yet again, swelling him with exuberance. It was definitely more than okay. It was -

"Brilliant," Arthur whispered with a short laugh.

- _brilliant_, Lovino agreed, the smile on his lips widening. At the very _least_, it was brilliant.

They danced throughout the night and slept until late noon in one another's arms, lingering in bed simply smiling at each other, chattering and laughing, taking advantage of their moment of privacy, until Arthur realised that he had forgotten to feed Elizabeth her breakfast.

* * *

**A/N:** During their date, Arthur quoted another of The Beatles' song, "The End."

Originally, I left Arthur's father as "anonymous" but later felt that it was kind of annoying - especially to the reader. Because Arthur had been struggling with his family ever since the beginning of the story, I just decided that it would be better if I hint at him slowly resolving his issues. Originally, there was no love-making scene between Arthur and Lovino because I figured, "Ha, that would leave way for a sequel if I ever feel like writing one," and then I realised, "Wait, I almost never feel like writing sequels." I've considered writing a sequel for this universe though, centred on Arthur's struggles in college more than his romance with Lovino. I have three chapters written for it and the rest planned and mapped out, but I'm still uncertain and uneasy about writing it.

The rest is a few pointers on some symbolism I just want to talk about, ha. So you can just skip it. It's the longest Author's Note anyway.

In this story, Lovino is always wearing the Armani boots he bought with his first paycheck. It means that he's comfortable wearing his own shoes and nobody else's. When Arthur sees that he's wearing Doc Martens (a British brand on top on being a new pair of shoes), I wonder what that means!

At first, I honestly did see Lovino as a sort of chihuahua when I began planning this story, but then the more research I did on chihuahuas, the less suited it appeared. Then I came across the Maltese. My first reaction: "It's a f**king long-haired rat. What. The. Hell. That's a dog?" It really looks cuter with a puppy-cut though, haha. Not only was it Italian, but it also suffers from separation anxiety and almost constantly barks for attention, generally speaking. When I looked it up on Wikipedia, it was described as the most abandoned dog breed in South Korea and Australia, and my heart just hurt.

There's a few motifs on dreams dispersed about the story, but I'll leave that up to you! I'm more focused on the fantasy aspect of it all, personally. When I began writing this, I wanted to make Arthur almost untouchable, which was why his appearance was describe as ethereal. I wanted Lovino to contrast that since I found the latter so down-to-earth with his character design. This ultimately creates a gap that Lovino was desperate to cross in order to reach Arthur, and Marianne further accents the sheer impossibility (or near impossibility) of that desire. Why? Because Arthur calls her an enchantress, a temptress, siren, etc. etc. which explains the tattoos on his back.

Arthur was probably the most complex character I've written, but it's probably because he could wear so many expressions. That's part of the reason why I had to give him a Cockney dialect and make him come from East End. That, and Sid Vicious was from Hackney.

As much as I love tsuntsun!Arthur, there wasn't much of him in this story, which makes me feel kind of bad. I wanted his character to be more _tsundere_, but he came out a little too badass for that. His variant of the school uniform came from his Pink Police artworks instead of the Gakuen Hetalia design. When I began planning, that wasn't supposed to happen, but after playing _Final Fantasy XIII_ for the nth time and the DLC for _Dissidia 012_, I was inspired by Lightning's variant of the GC uniform and wanted to make Arthur stand out more. Also, because he wasn't the student council president, I based his entire wardrobe from England's punk phase rather than his smart casual wear.

In regards to the warm/cool contrast of Lovino and Arthur, it's a reflection of Italian and British climates... Plus, "cool hands mean a warm heart," and a few other things I can't really explain, hahaha! When Lovino compares Antonio's and Arthur's hands though, it really does mean something. I just have a hard time describing it, so I'll leave it to your interpretation!

**Well, that should be it!** Anyway, I'm really happy this last chapter got posted, which is kind of why I rambled a bit here. There's quite a bit I wanted to point out and talk about; it's like the last pages of the novel nobody ever reads because the author is talking about the techniques they've used. I really am quite touched if you read it all the way through though, and thank you (thank you _so much_) to everyone who's stuck all the way to the end and to everyone who's read, reviewed, favourited, or followed!

This is the end, and I hope you liked it! Goodbye! ...and maybe we'll meet again someday?


End file.
